Sin Unto the World
by SerNature
Summary: My Collection of Dragon Age: Origins and Awakenings kink meme fills. Pairing details within.
1. Ali and FCous: Feels Like the First Time

_Alistair and Fem!Cousland. Prompt was awkward, ridiculous, but still romantic first time for them both. Beware the giggles!_

* * *

Maker's breath, this was all kinds of awkward.

It figured that he would find a woman that was even more sexually oblivious than he was. Just his sodding luck, really.

He loved her, of course, but _Maker_, she didn't even catch the lamppost euphemism!

And now, here he was, asking her to lay with him. Tonight. Because she was a lady and he was a gentleman and she would _never_ consider acting the least bit wanton.

"Lay with you?" Elissa sounded particularly incredulous. "I... we aren't even in the Frostbacks anymore, Alistair. Are you that cold? We could-"

He groaned. _Seriously?_

Chuckling nervously, he elaborated, "No. I mean. I would like... to, uh... W-well..." he cleared his throat, cheeks burning, shifting his weight from foot to foot, "What I mean is, I would like you to be with me. Tonight. As... as a man and a woman who love each other?"

He was pretty sure it was not healthy to blush that hard.

"O-oh. I.. I see." She seemed to find the ground very interesting at that point. "I-I think... I think I'd like that? If... if that's what you want, I mean. I don't... well I don't know what's expected of me. Is all. I mean. Mother made it sound like some horrid, painful _duty_ and -"

Alistair raised a hand to stop what would no doubt be a long, arduous explanation that would kill his sex drive for the rest of his life. "Look, Elissa... I don't really know what I'm doing either. I just.. I know I love you, and I want to.. to give myself to you, this way. I'll understand if you- you're not ready, or you don't want to, or you're scared."

Elissa looked at him then, and smiled. It was that sweet, utterly gorgeous expression that made him weak at the knees. "I love you too, Alistair. I do... and I am... scared, I think. Nervous, obviously. I... Mother always said that this was my _duty_ to-to my _husband_," she grimaced, though he knew she wasn't balking at the idea of being his wife, moreover at the idea of being married to some old, crusty nobleman. "but I love _you_ and I do... I want you to be _the one_."

He embraced her warmly, thankful neither of them were on watch tonight, both changed into simple linen breeches and shirts. He was suddenly _very_ aware of her breasts pressed against him and fought the sudden urge to grind his hardening length against her hip.

_Right, then_.

Raking a hand through his hair, he gave her his best boyish smile and gestured gallantly towards his tent. "Shall we?"

He realized, quite late, that he really should have waited for an inn or something.

Your first time with a woman who is _also_ experiencing her first time, in a small, cramped tent, that barely allowed him in, let alone he and Elissa who was a scant few inches shorter, well it was just the very definition of a Bad Idea.

Still, she was in his tent. They had knelt down, facing each other. Or, well, he was looking at her, and she was looking at everything _but_ him, wringing her hands and biting her lip - he still wasn't quite sure why that last part was sexy, but it was.

Time passed, he had no idea how long, honestly; they just stared at each other.

_Awkward._

She cleared her throat in that rather haughty way - he imagined she learned how to do that by the time she was two - and continued fidgeting slightly, but she was looking at him rather pointedly.

_Oh. Right. Me._

He shifted forward and pressed his lips to hers, softly. It was sweet and chaste, as it always was at first, before he parted his lips and teased her own open. Elissa let out a small, needy moan that rushed straight to his libido, causing his trousers to strain.

She pulled back, breathless; chest heaving, lips swollen and parted as she greedily sucked in air that they had both forgotten they needed.

"Alistair... I," she paused, giggling. It was more than a little hysterical, and oddly comforting, "I suppose, uh... our clothes?" She tugged his shirt and cocked her head slightly.

"Er. Yes. That is.. yes that's probably a good idea. I, um, I guess I'll go first, then?" She nodded.

So he did. It was dark, not pitch black but the fire was dying and neither of them could see much, so they had to rely on touch and sound. Her calloused, but feminine hands gently brushed against his abdomen, and they gasped in unison. She used the blunt nail of her index finger to trace the ridges of his muscles, causing him to shiver and moan.

Then she went lower and he caught her by the wrist, a little more harshly than he intended, but if she went any lower he was quite certain it would be Ended and he would likely no longer feel like a man.

She stammered. "I-I'm sorry, I was just.. curious, I-"

"No- don't, please. I just. It's your turn, obviously. You were cheating." He desperately tried to distract her with a bit of levity.

"Oh. R-right. My shirt?" He moved closer to her and nodded, lifting the hem of it over her head and -

"Ow! Maker's Blood, Alistair!" she whined; one of the loose buttons of her shirt caught her hair and he apparently pulled a few strands out in his haste.

_Oops._

He mutter a "sorry" against the crown of her head and kissed tenderly, before realizing she still had her breast bind on.

He traced a finger along her elegant collarbone, down until he reached the cleft between her breasts.

He swallowed hard, voice raspy, "May I?"

He felt her nod, and began the apparently puzzling task of removing said binding. She was sighing impatiently and he decided that just tugging the thing was the best option.

Then she slapped his hand.

"He-ey" he whimpered, fully aware how petulant he sounded.

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes and grinning, before she grabbed his hands and led them to her back. The ties came lose in seconds and the fiendish, mocking cloth pooled at her waist.

He was sure it was laughing at him.

"Alistair?"

It was pitch-black now, unfortunately. Or maybe it was fortunate. She obviously expect him to approve of her... goods.

He brought his hands around to her chest, resting on her ribs, his thumbs brushing the underside of her bosom. She moaned.

_What does one **do** with breasts?_

Alistair was at a loss, and she was no help at all, so he decided just to wing it.

What could _possibly_ go wrong?

Tentatively, he lifted one hand, letting the underside of her breast lay in his palm, as if he were weighing. Elissa shivered, and it _jiggled_ and he decided right then and there that breasts were indeed, _awesome_, despite the annoying contraption that banded them (yes he still hated that thing, and no he would not forget it).

He brought his other hand up to do the same, slowly bringing his palms up to cover her hardening nipples. Of course, he did what any man would do in his position, and mimicked a lewd gesture he had seen other men make, that he eventually figured out meant something about a woman's breasts.

She shrieked. _Shrieked._ "Alistair! _Gentle._ Please. They happen to be _attached_ to me."

Maker, this was _embarrassing_. He felt all the world like he was failing some test.

But he was nothing if not obedient, so he squeezed again, more gently. She "hmm"ed approvingly.

He moved to the next area of interest, her nipple. Winging it had not really worked out for him thus far, but he was a persistent man. He brushed a thumb against one bud, and she moaned.

"Yes." she said, airily, "Maker, _yes._"

He did it again, this time with both hands, on both breasts, and then Elissa moaned his name and, Maker help him, he had no idea his name could sound so damn _erotic_ and he just about lost it right there.

Determined to make her feel even better, but still far too curious to quit while he was ahead, he pinched one of her nipples between a thumb and forefinger.

"Ouch!" She jerked away, covering her bosom with one arm, "What in blazes do you think you're doing?"

He tried to stammer something out, but honestly he was more than a little miffed.

_I have no idea what I'm doing, woman!_

Alistair would have said just that were it not for the sudden sharp and not wholly unpleasant feeling of her pinching him in retaliation.

"How do you like it, hmm?" He wisely kept his mouth shut, firmly ignoring the way his cock _throbbed_ from the attention.

"I'm sorry, Elissa." A sigh whooshed out of him as he groped for her hand, finally finding it and clasping firmly, "I wasn't lying when I said I had no idea what to do, you know."

He felt her sigh in response and nod slightly. "I'm sorry, too. I just- I don't like feeling so..." she squeezed his hand and sighed again, obviously not able to find the correct word at the moment.

"Can we try again?"

He grinned, boldly pulling her closer; bare breasts against his chest, they both groaned, but he held his ground.

He cradled her jaw in his sword-worn hands, brushing his lips against hers.

"As you desire, my love." He really wasn't aware his voice could sound that husky, but the shudder he got from his dearest love was delicious.

Their lips met harshly; hungrily battling with tongues in a sudden burst of desire.

Perhaps this night was salvageable.

Finally. Finally, things were going as he imagined.

The air was thick with desire, making a purely enjoyable tension in his belly, slowly chipping away the awkward tension that was there before.

Elissa melted against him even more; their kisses were wet and manic now, nipping each others lips playfully as they desperately caught their breath. He gently squeezed a breast, and flitted a thumb over her nipple the way she seemed to like so much.

The resulting wail -muffled against the cord of his neck, as it was- sorely reminded him that they still had pants on and that this was a _major problem._

Alistair planted sweet pecks on Elissa's neck as it craned back, boneless.

He nipped her earlobe, chuckling huskily as she gasped.

His hand somehow made it to her belly, casually flicking the waistband.

"May I?" He tugged at the laces, not enough to loosen them at all, but enough to make it very clear what he wanted.

"Well... Um. I just-"

His hand immediately shot back to his side.

"I'm sorry! I just.. I thought -" _Oh, Maker, this was a terrible idea._

"Alistair.."

He hung his head dejectedly, glad she couldn't see it. "No, no. Really. It's fine. I'll just -"

"_Alistair!_" His head snapped up at that; she never used her Scary Commander Voice on him.

"All I was trying to do was mention we still had our _boots_ on," she let out a bark of laughter, "In hopes to avoid _more_ awkwardness." There was a sigh, likely accompanied with a shake of her head. "Maker, we're terrible at this, aren't we?"

He just stared at her a moment, before breaking out into a fit of nervous, hysterical giggles that she soon joined in on.

As the contagious giggles subsided, he embraced her. "Yes. The worst." Another giggle from them both, but then his voice grew serious. "Even if this turns out to be a disaster, and you end up giving me those icy glares you only save for Sten when he steals your cookies for the rest of my life," he smiled against her neck before looking into her eyes, even in the dark, "I want this to be with you... only you, Elissa."

She kissed him tenderly, chastely, through a gentle smile.

"Get these boots off me, _Ser Knight._"

'Easier said than done' seemed to be the official theme of the evening.

It was dark, they were both quite long-legged, and Alistair had armor strewn about his tent.

Elissa knocked over something as she tried to lay out on his bedroll. Then he realized, yet again, it was pitch black, and he had to grope his was down her leg to find her feet. Worse yet, he had to figure out how to unlace and unbuckle the things in the dark.

Ten minutes, thirteen curses, and one mildly amused almost-lover later, her feet were free of boots and socks, as were his because there was no way he was going to wait for her to do it for him.

Alistair stretched out next to her; propped up on one elbow, his other hand resting just about her navel. He felt her breathing hitch, then speed up slightly.

Her voice was shaky. "I love you, Alistair."

He smiled, unable to speak with his heart in his throat, so he settled for kissing her deeply, letting his hand snake down to the laces of her breeches.

The laces came loose easily despite his trembling hand. His fingers slipped under the waistband of her breeches; of her small clothes. They continued on their own until he reached her moist center, causing them both to let out a whimper.

It was warm; hot even, and _slimy_, and instead of being disgusted by it like he assumed he should have been, it was the _best damn thing_ he had ever felt. His mind was suddenly fogged with lust and he practically caused the tent to come down on them when he peeled the rest of her clothing off.

Elissa let out a small squeal that turned into a giggle, that was closely followed by a strained moan when he put his fingers back on that wonderful heat.

Unsure as always, he resumed his position by her side, quickly planted kisses on her collarbone. She squirmed against his hand, and he responded, inexpertly stroking her folds as if it were a lap cat.

He continued his movements, cataloging where she liked to be touched most; he learned that small circular movements rewarded him with coos, his middle finger stroking up and down the length of her sex practically got him a scream- not that he was smug about that at all.

Then he felt pressure on the bulge in his pants that he had nearly forgotten about and almost passed out from the sudden rush of pleasure.

The wicked little minx next to him giggled when he let out some bastardized hybrid of a moan and a groan, and stroked again. Firmer.

_Maker_; if this was sin, he'd happily burn.

She tugged at his pants, pulling them only a bit over his narrow hips, before her hands pulled back to her sides.

"Elissa?" His voice was husky and barely above a whisper.

Alistair could vaguely see her bite her lip; when she spoke, her voice was small, almost like a scared child.

"I don't... want to seem like some wanton," she licked her lips, "I shouldn't be grabbing at you like that... should I?"

He laughed, unable to stop himself, "You won't be hearing any complaints from me, 'Lis."

Apparently, she could remove his trousers even faster than he could.

"_Andraste's Blood_," he couldn't help but curse, despite the utterly divine feeling of her skin against his, "You..." he swallowed thickly, "You feel _amazing_. Divine. I am most _definitely_ a lucky bastard." He pressed himself against her hip; gently stroked her hair with his hand and kissed her firmly.

Elissa made a small little murring noise; it oozed contentment and love, and she pressed more forcefully back against him, catching his earlobe in her teeth before whispering, "Make love to me, Alistair. Please."

He attempted to say something that was sure to be unbelievably suave, but his voice broke like he was thirteen again.

Clearing his throat, he drawled, "Well, since you asked so _nicely._"

Again. Easier said than done.

_Andraste's tits, if we ever finish this I am never doing this in a tent again._

She kneed him; twice in the stomach, once on his thigh - scarce inches away from his manhood and he nearly yelped.

_Nearly_, and it would have been a very manly yelp, regardless, thank you.

He managed to pull her hair while positioning himself between her thighs. He apologized, kissed her cheek, then managed to do it again.

Alistair was just about to apologize - again - when the tip of his length brushed the warm, moist flesh of her sex.

Everything stopped and his mouth went completely dry.

"Are... are you ready, my love? It... it's s-supposed to hurt, isn't it? For women? The first time, I mean." The words tumbled out and his winced, desperately hoping he wasn't scaring her off with his ineptitude and rambling.

"So I hear," she let out a nervous chuckle, "Don't worry, please? I'm sure I've been through worse."

Air whooshed out of him, and his eyes clamped shut for a moment. Maker, he didn't want to hurt her but...

He kissed her deeply, passionately; tongues twirled together as he began to press his length into her.

Or, at least, that's what was supposed happen.

Instead he missed. Twice.

Alistair was pretty certain he found the right hole because the Maker finally decided to have mercy on him rather than make everything go wrong just for His amusement.

He slid in, as gently as possible; it was heavenly. There was no possible way this could be wrong, sinful.

As slowly as he could manage while still keeping what little sanity he had left, he continued. Elissa was wincing slightly, shifting her hips up in a way that made him growl low in his throat.

His head bowed, lips brushing against the skin of her neck; he attacked. Theoretically, it was to distract her from any pain, but it seemed more to distract him from the too-quickly growing ache he was feeling in his abdomen.

Then he hit a barrier.

Elissa muttered something he couldn't catch, but the grip on his biceps tighten; nails that were once pleasantly scraping, were now digging into his skin.

He went up to her ear, whispering an "I love you", and pushed again.

The pressure was so intense it hurt him; Elissa was whimpering, shifting restlessly under him like she just wanted to get it over with. He complied and sunk all the way into her delicious heat.

She cried out pathetically; he felt terrible that he was actually somewhat glad for the noise- it certainly dampened the mood and maybe he'd actually be able to hold out for a bit longer.

Her entire body was tense, her nails were so deep in his skin they actually stopped hurting until she loosened her grip.

"A-are you all right?" He tried to sound genuinely concerned, but buried in her as he was, his voice still had a lustful undertone to it.

She whimpered softly, before replying, "I-I think so... it doesn't hurt so much now... just aches." She tilted her hips at a deeper angle this time, moaning throatily in response. "M-maybe if you.. move?"

Mentally, he whispered a quick prayer of thanks, and did as asked.

_Oh, Maker._

He pulled out, and thrust back in, burying himself all the way to the hilt. He belonged there, deep inside her welcoming, slick heat.

Again. Her legs suddenly wrapped around his waist and she ground against him, mewling and arching her back so her breasts pressed against his chest.

Another thrust, and her walls tightened and he...

All the sudden, he just couldn't hold back anymore. His thrusts became quick, jerky; he vaguely heard her crying out his name, laced with surprised and lust and he came and it was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced in his life. He couldn't help but weakly moan her name in response.

Alistair barely kept himself from falling on top of her, only just keeping his weight held on his elbows.

"Alistair? What's wrong?" _Uh oh._

"I...um. Ended. Didn't you...?"

The Maker apparently decided Alistair's embarrassment was far too entertaining for Him to pass up for too long.

"'Didn't I...' what? Are... we done? Was that it?" There was only genuine curiosity in her voice but it still hurt his manly pride quite effectively.

"You uh..." he sighed, rolling himself off of her, cuddling her close to him quickly afterwords, back pressed to his chest, "I mean, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to... end, too."

He could picture her brow furrowing. "Oh. How do you know when you...?" he felt her make some sort of hand gesture.

_She's never...? Maker, and I thought I was sheltered._

"You know, I really don't know how to explain it... ah- it... it felt incredible for me. I guess... I guess I didn't do much for you?" He winced at how pathetic he sounded.

Elissa turned to face him, lacing her fingers around his neck, she kissed him thoroughly.

When she pulled back, he was breathless; more from the raw emotion in the kiss than anything else.

"I don't know about... what we just did. I'm happy you enjoyed yourself, and... I enjoyed it too... even if I didn't..." she trailed off for a moment, "I love you, Alistair. I'm glad I gave myself to you."

Relief poured into him, coming out as a small laugh. "Good to know I won't be on your Icy Death Glare list just yet."

He was rewarded for his quip with a tiny laugh to mirror his own, before she snuggled against him, head burrowing against his shoulder.

Sleep grasped at them both, and soon her breathing evened out, coming out in warm puffs against his chest that tickled ever so slightly.

Alistair kissed her hair sweetly, tightening his hold on the one thing in his life that was just _good_.

The Maker definitely enjoyed tormenting him, but he figured if that's what it took to keep Elissa, well, there were worse things than being His jester.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face that had nothing to do with losing his virginity.

* * *

Leliana was ravaging her pouty lower lip in an attempt to keep herself from bursting out into giggles.

_Oh, the poor dears!_

She quite firmly believed that new lovers should discover each other without outside interference, but that was just _painful._

Zevran, for his part, was shaking his head and rolling his eyes, muttering something about leading a horse to water.

"You see?" he pointed at the tent in question, "I told you, my dear, we should have given tips."

A giggle escaped her. "Oh, Zevran. I hate to admit it, but you are right." she let out a long-suffering sigh and pulled out a piece of parchment, her quill, and some ink.

He raised a fair eyebrow curiously before purring, "Can we not just demonstrate for them, my sweet? Surely that will get the... _point_ across far more effectively."

Leliana just rolled her eyes and handed him a sheet and a spare quill. "I am writing for Alistair; it will be far less embarrassing for them both if we just leave some notes, Zevran." she paused a moment to give him what she felt was a suitably stern glare, "Nothing too... elaborate, Zev. Just a few tips on where and how to touch."

Zevran said nothing, but he grinned in the most lascivious way she considered going taking the paper back.

Then she remembered the Wardens' performance and decided it was simply the Maker's will that they had him around to educate.


	2. Zev and FAmell: Hindsight

_Zevran and Catherine Amell. Prompt was based off the cut letter from Awakenings. This is basically plot with a little bit of fluffy smut. _

* * *

In hindsight, this was probably not the best idea he'd ever had.

It was not as if he wanted to be without her company; truly she was a marvel to behold, an angel, perhaps even Andraste herself, gifted to a penitent sinner. Who else could love, forgive, and make him do the same? Zevran loved her, and it was divine. Pure. _Perfect_. But the Crows knew. Somehow, they always did.

He had to strike first, there was no question to it, no doubt in his mind; they would kill her to break him; they wanted him back, he knew. It hurt when Rinna was killed; shamed him, but what he felt for her paled in comparison; a moonless night compared to the sunrise. Either what he felt for Rinna was not truly love, or what he has for Catherine - his kitten - is something words cannot do justice to. Zevran suspected it was a mixture of the two.

Yes, hindsight was a marvelous thing. He should have explained it to her. She would have understood, after all; she was a pragmatic little thing, she understood necessity. She knew how the Crows were, knew what she meant to him.

But, of course, he did not do this. While the King Alistair (the thought of that _still_ made him chuckle, even eight months after the fact) and Queen Anora were cleaning out the arling of Amaranthine, he and Catherine had a permanent place in the palace. Moreover, they had a _sinfully_ large and delightfully fluffy bed that they took full advantage of in every which-way possible, and some ways that even _he_ thought were downright impossible; his Warden always surprised him in the most amazing ways.

He was not ashamed in the slightest to realize those moments were the happiest he'd ever been. For the first time in his - and her - life, Zevran _made love_. Certainly, he had used the term before, usually to seduce some poor romantic sap into bed, but with her... it was simple. Easy, too easy, to let his body show her how he felt. They had said that dangerous word, that terrifyingly intimate phrase once, to each other. Never since.

A month or so later - at least he thinks it's a month; he spent most of his time between the thighs of his little sorceress and that does make it difficult to pay attention - he found the dead crow on their windowsill, and that was that.

He feared for her -only her, for her life was his now- so that very day, in the dead of night, after spending hours bringing her - only her, for he did not deserve to take part, not that night - to the peak of pleasure so many times she promptly passed out; snuffling softly and nuzzling against his chest like a particularly satisfied cat.

Denerim's docks were still intact, and luckily enough for him, Isabella was still in port. It took very little to get her to agree to take him to Antiva City; he surmised she expected the use of his talents on the long boat ride over. Now, his Warden had never made a claim to him - nor he, her, for that matter - and she lived her life much as he did; taking pleasures where she could. He could have, indeed, given Isabella those Antivan delights she so adored; his lover would not have minded, he knew... but it did not have the appeal it once did.

No. Catherine Amell deserved better, and he _was_ better.

Of course, she deserved better than him stealing away in the middle of the night, as well. Baby steps, yes?

* * *

Normally, sailing gave him peace. Zev adored all of it; the misty, chilling wind that cut to the bone, the smell of the salt, the sound of the sails. This merry little jaunt to his beloved Antiva, however, bore him no such thing.

It was morning, now, and Catherine knew he was gone. His darling little kitten was not a fretting type of woman; that would not change, and for that he was immensely grateful. The unfortunate byproduct of this, however, was that she had a downright frightening temper in worry's stead. She would, without fail, search around the palace; she knew where he would be, better than anyone else. No one would think to look for him in the library, but they shared a love of both fine and dreadful literature; often they'd cuddle close and would read those horrid romance novels to each other, stopping to laugh uproariously at a particularly bad line. Truly, they were an odd couple, but the looks on their friend's faces(particularly Alistair, of course) when she would read the love scenes -intentionally- too loudly, was most satisfying.

When she grudgingly admits to herself she cannot find him, she'd wait, thinking, perhaps, he had some surprise planned for her, which was not unlike him. She had a temper, true, but she was a patient and calculating woman as well, she would wait the rest of the day, well into the night, before she became angry. Things would be thrown, people would be hit, curses that would make him blush would be bellowed throughout the palace.

Truly, he pitied the palace staff.

* * *

It took three weeks to reach the putrid-smelling docks of Antiva City. The smells, the sights, the feel of this place used to be home to him. Now something was missing. He had promised to take her to Antiva when her duties were finished; relished in the brightness that overtook her weary face. There was a pang, deep in his chest, some horrid jumble of betrayal, longing, and self-loathing. He knew the mixture of the fore and latter most, but the longing added an extremely acidic element to the already burning, bitter brew.

The whole Crow business ended up taking far longer than he thought; old contacts were dead, or were under the impression he was dead, or were more likely to sell him out. 'Trust' was not common or even recommended amongst his murderous surrogate family. Zevran was honestly considering cutting and dying his hair, and adding new tattoos and scars, preparing to infiltrate, when he heard the news of more Darkspawn in Ferelden. Specifically, an all out attack on Vigil's Keep, the keep he knew Catherine was to be stationed.

Of course. he thought, bitterly Knowing her luck, they're probably after her, specifically. Can't fault their tastes, I suppose.

Infiltration took far too long; time he could not spare now. No, it was time to spill blood. Zevran was not considered legendary amongst his peers without reason. Only the Masters would give him any real trouble, and he'd only need to kill one or two to get his message across. The Crows were vengeful only when profits outweighed the risk.

Zevran was no longer profitable. He was no longer a thing to be used, and he would make that clear in the only way they understood.

* * *

Six months. It took him six months to cover Antiva in Crow blood. The Crows knew who was responsible, they _had_ to know. They always did.

Fear struck the heart of him when he heard rumors of a contract on her life. One last attempt to reign him in; the rumors went through people they knew he listened to. But he could not jump to conclusions, not now.

So he waited, thankfully, learning that some idiotic noble decided they knew how to run the arling better or some such political thing. They only sent four Crows, only one of which would really deserved the title.

If he wasn't so busy murdering their comrades, he'd feel bad for them.

He killed two Masters, neither of them ones he had met before, before receiving a note, bound to another dead Crow. He absently wondered if they kept boxes of the things around.

It read:

_-Arainai_

_Message understood._

Chuckling low in his throat, he grinned. He pulled the hood of his cloak around his face and headed toward the docks.

He missed the smell of wet dogs.

* * *

Never in his life had the smell of wet dog and garbage been so utterly enticing. He had missed Ferelden, for _she_ was here and that made Ferelden his home.

_Home._ The word never had meaning for him before. It was supposed to be a place, so he thought. A quaint little cottage with a doting mother and a father who just wants what's best for his rambunctious but ultimately respectful two children. There was always a fire in the quaint little fireplace, the cottage smelled of cookies, and the entire image made Zevran sick.

Then he fell in love with Catherine Amell and he learned that _home_ could just as easily be a person, too.

It didn't take him long to nick a horse from the royal stables (after all Alistair owed him far more than that) and start his journey to the Vigil. He heard various versions of the battle through excitable elven servants and gossips, the major constant only being that Amaranthine was raised, and that the Warden-Commander was the cold-hearted bitch who had let it happen.

If Zevran were some other man, he likely would have punched any sodding idiot that went about calling his kitten such. However, he was not; that whole "white knight" thing was so very _Alistair_ and Catherine would have sooner socked him in the mouth than let him "defend her honor."

The road to Amaranthine was short compared to the trekking he did almost a year prior, but it still took him a few days. The Keep hardly had a scratch on her, surprising -or, perhaps, not so considering it's commander - from the stories of the hordes of darkspawn that had attacked. The time it took him to get to the Vigil allowed him to make a plan, of sorts. He needed to be prepared for the barrage of insults that would no doubt be hurled in his direction; slaps and glares were also in his future. It would be best just to sweep her off her feet as soon as possible, not give her much time to think.

To that end, he decided to scale the Keep's side, relatively sure of his guess that the Commander's quarters would be higher up. The lack of lattices also clued him in; there were others around the keep, but none on this side. He was unbelievably proud to know she _listened_ to some of his tales of assassinating abroad.

Alas, it didn't make climbing the blighted thing any easier for him when he was just trying to be romantic.

Seven slips of his feet and/or hands, three near-death experiences, and one sodding mabari that just would _not_ stop barking later, he was at her window.

Of all the things he expected, of all the scenarios he had thought up... nothing prepared him for this.

He had assassinated a few of the 'hero' types in his day; they all seemed to be raging insomniacs, so he wasn't necessarily expecting her to be asleep, although that would have been easiest.

He had hoped she would be in bed, at least. Reading one of her books, with a glass of wine on her nightstand. Perhaps sitting in front of the fire, humming to that _beast_ of a dog she had. Paperwork, cataloging herbs, making poultices and balms; any one of the many little things that made her Catherine.

But she was not doing any of this.

Her window was open; he had managed to get himself propped on the sill without making noticeable noise- silently thanking the Maker that he had the presence of mind to change out of his armor and into a rather form fitting white linen shirt and brown trousers(which were, naturally, even more form fitting).

She was sitting at an oaken desk, positioned so that he was only able to see a partial view of her profile: her full lips, pointed chin, curve of her neck and bare shoulder. Whatever she was wearing didn't fit her quite right, and hardly covered her lanky, tanned legs. Her black hair was longer now, down just past her shoulder blades; beautifully, naturally wavy and thick.

In her hands was an abused piece of paper, and she was tracing the words with one of her utterly feminine fingers reverently, as if the Maker himself had written to her.

He could not read the words, but he recognized the scrawl; his.

He was flabbergasted. The letter had really just been written on a whim, it was far to flippant and frankly almost _rude_; he had regretted sending it almost immediately. Regardless, it certainly didn't deserve her worship.

Did it?

There were no tears. Zevran was quite sure that if there were, he would have fall right off the sill, but she was so sad. So... lost. He felt _terrible._

She made a small noise, almost a whimper, before she folded the note, though not before she gently pressed her lips against his signature.

She turned.

"Zev?" Her normally sultry, unwavering voice cracked on the small syllable of his nickname. It made his heart wrench.

"You really should learn to close your window, my dear," he smiled broadly, but it was his fake smile, a smile he hadn't used on her since their admission, "Who knows when some rapscallion might decide to have his wicked way with you."

She was standing now- Maker's Breath, she was gorgeous.

And she was wearing his shirt.

It was unbelievably erotic to know that she had worn that all these months. He had mock-scolded her when she "borrowed" it; the thing never really fit him anyway, but it was principle.

She winced as if he struck her. "Who knows, indeed?" The words were likely meant to be growled, but they came out softly; she was hurt, alone.

It took him three seconds to reach her and envelope him in his arms. She didn't respond, but he continued. "I am sorry, mi amore. I had--"

Weak hands pressed him back from her, trembling visibly. "_**Don't**_," she growled, eyes narrowing, "I... I'm not angry you left. Or even surprised, Zevran. I figured you would leave, eventually."

"Catherine... kitten, I beg you do not--" Was that his voice?

She shook her head. "No, I didn't mean it like that. I just," she took a deep breath, looking directly into his eyes, "I never wanted you to feel... chained to me. To us. You are _free_. The Crows could not break you, and I certainly would never try to."

She was thinking of _him_. How _he_ felt. _His_ needs.

Impossible woman.

He couldn't stop the small, genuine smile that formed on his lips.

"I am now, my darling," The words were barely a whisper, but she slid herself back into his arms, pressing herself against his chest. Eight months of celibacy made that difficult to ignore. "Perhaps, if my goddess would indulge me," He went to one knee; calloused hands caressing her hips. "Might I _absolve_ my sins?"

She chuckled, low and quite roughly. Yes, it had been too long.

She shook her head, again. "Zevran, really... I appre--"

It was his turn to cut her off. "No. I have wronged you, my sweet. I have. Please," his hand drifted to her inner thigh, ghosting in gentle circles, "Please."

Zevran couldn't hide his grin as he felt her entire body clench from his cruelly gentle touch, she moaned oh-so-softly; an invitation if he ever heard one. His hands drank her in as he rose back up from his knee, meeting her lips with his.

It should have been desperate, needy; he had never gone this long without sex, _ever_, but something held him back. The kiss wasn't chaste, but it wasn't all tongues and teeth, either. They drew it out slowly, deliberately, sweetly. The whole thing was so unbelievably tender: he cradled her jaw with one hand, thumb making small circles on her cheek, the other stroking her back sensually; she massaged his neck and shoulder with her hands.

They were pressed together so tightly, not even a sliver of moonlight could find passage between them.

She smelled of cinnamon, as she always did, and of leather polish he noted, as leisurely let his lips find their way to the dip in her collarbone; it was his smell, he realized, and his shirt was covered in it.

He had the sudden image of her pleasuring herself, wearing his shirt, smelling his smell, moaning his name, and that odd thing that was keeping him from ravaging her there on the stone floor only _just_ reigned him in.

Slowly, but eagerly (he was just a man, after all) he nudged her to the still rather large but less fluffy bed than the one from the palace, somehow removing both of their shirts in the process.

No small clothes impeded him. Oh, yes, he loved this woman.

His boots and trousers came off quickly; he hadn't the heart or the patience to tease her as he normally would. He slid to his place, between her thighs, forehead resting against hers, but not entering her.

He began kissing her increasingly feverish skin, suckling gently on the earlobe that still held the simple hoop he had gifted her. She cooed, squirming under him, more than ready.

She deserved so much more, he wanted to draw this out, peak her multiple times before finally making love, but it had been so long, he _needed_ the intimacy.

Their eyes locked, and he slid into her. That same force that kept him from ravaging her before, went into overdrive. He was moving at an agonizingly slow pace. Inch by inch, he filled her, savoring her heat; the kittenish mewling noises she made. By the time he was sheathed, they were both sweating from the exertion of keeping their passions at bay.

Their gaze didn't waver; he took one of her hands, held it, interlacing their fingers, both their free hands were behind the others neck, keeping them forehead to forehead. Long legs wrapped around his waist, undemanding; just there.

He began to move.

They barely made any noise; it wasn't unusual for them(one of them was an assassin and the other grew up in a place with twenty to a room), but this silence was _sacred_. As if they feared any noise would break the spell.

Every push was greeted with a gentle tilt of her hips, every pull was mourned by them both. Their breaths mingled, noses brushing against each other as they slowly walked to the edge.

"Zevran" Catherine whispered his name, drawing it out like a chant. Her eyes glistened, and he watched one, lone tear make it's way down her cheek.

Her body tensed, inner muscles clenching him so intensely it almost hurt. She whimpered his name again, sighing a moan as she climaxed, never leaving his gaze; he could do nothing but follow, he would always follow her. He held her close, grasping her shoulders as he emptied himself into her, shivering, practically sobbing as his lover cooed meaningless soothings, raking her fingers through his hair as he rested on her bosom.

He did not move; she didn't as him to, just flipped a section of her coverlet over them both. Her lips brushed the crown of his head and he fell asleep more content than he ever had felt in his entire life.

* * *

He awoke to the sounds of shouting workman, clanging swords, barking dogs, and to the face of his beloved.

They hadn't moved all night; they were sticky, a bit smelly, and he was terribly sore but somehow none of that mattered- well, it _mattered_, but he'd deal with it later.

She looked angelic; full lips slightly parted, black hair spread about her like a halo, and an utterly peaceful, barely noticeable smile. Lovingly, he nuzzled his lips against the hollow of her ear; she made a soft noise of contentment; there was a giggle, too, and she murmured his name, eyelids languidly opening.

She blinked a few times, before focusing on his face, then she smiled. Not a smirk, or a grin, or a sultry half-smile, or any of the numerous other expressions she had, it was a smile. Full of sweetness and sunshine and love. Zevran could do nothing but smile back. When her breath caught in her throat, he hoped he had conveyed the same to her.

"Zevran," she began, her voice soft and warm as a summer breeze, "Maker's Breath, I... I thought," her eyes glistened, "I thought I'd never see you again."

He didn't know what to say. His entire life, words had just been lies. A means to an end. So he took her hand in his and brought her knuckles to his lips, kissing them all reverently, keeping his eyes locked to her beautiful face.

She understood, of course. She always did, they didn't need to speak. But some things needed to be said, regardless, and they both knew it.

"I," his voice was husky with emotion, "will always return to you, _mi __amore_, my _love_." He shuddered slightly as he spoke the same phrase in words she could understand; saw the gooseflesh rise on her skin.

He continued when she didn't speak. "I told you once that I was your man, without reservation, you remember that lovely day, yes?"

She chuckled richly and nodded; she never liked to speak about the day he attempted to kill her, unlike the rest of the party. She understood survival, necessity, and, unfortunately, the lack of will to live.

"That has not changed, it never will. My life has been... death. Well, sex and death, as you well know; they mix well, no?" He shook his head, annoyed at his own stalling. "Never love. Never... _this_. Not even with Rinna. I feel," he looked away from her loving gaze, "_unworthy_."

He had started to say more, but she, rather firmly, place her free hand over his mouth, glaring rather like he had kicked her puppy.

"All these months, I have missed you, Zevran. What I told you was true, I would never chain you; would never wish to chain myself, but when you were gone," Tears fell from her eyes freely now, she was not sobbing; they were quiet tears of long-hidden pain, "I told you I loved you before, and I do still. I never realized how much until you were _gone_ and you took a piece of _me_ with you."

He was speechless, but only for a moment. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her palm to signal her to remove it; she complied.

"_Never again_, my darling. Never again. I have been many things - many people - in my lifetime, but I shall _never_ forsake you." He kissed her gently, drinking in the salty tears, "I will not desert you, no matter where I am, my love. Nothing will keep me from you. I would gladly strike down the Maker Himself for you; to get to you. Do not doubt me, Catherine. _I am yours_."

She sobbed then, once, before hugging him to her.

A breathy whisper in his ear, "I have _never_ doubted you, Zevran."

Tears came to him, then; he did not wish to stop them, they were happy tears, of all things. He had no idea such things existed. His heart was full to bursting, his entire body was warm and thrumming with energy.

Such a simple sentence, and it meant the world to him.

And she might never had mentioned it if he hadn't left.

Yes... hindsight. In hindsight, this was the best thing he'd ever done.


	3. Zev and FSurana:Something About Her Eyes

_Zevran and Fem!Surana. Prompt was Zev uses all his skills of seduction to make Fem!Surana's first time totally awesome. Bonus points for tenderness._

* * *

Zevran sat gracefully in the common room of the Gnawed Noble Tavern, with both feet propped up on a nearby and crossed at the ankle. It was late, he had changed into a pair of sage green trousers and a beige linen shirt- laces undone to show off his bare chest, of course. To the casual observer, he was drinking his wine, letting his gaze rake the various forms of the serving girls tittering about.

What the assassin was _truly_ doing, was watching his Warden, as he always did. She was the only other awake at this hour, save for a few drunkards that he imagined were more fixtures of to the bar rather than people.

She, of course, did not notice him. Neria was far enough away not to notice his glaces, but close enough for him to be able to account for her features. Her nose was buried in some book she had found on the Tevinter Imperium; brow creased in concentration, lip sucked into her mouth, damp hair unbound in clinging ringlets.

It bothered him, in all honesty, that he was so enraptured with her. He shouldn't have been. She iwas/i beautiful, and he treasured beautiful things, but there were others far prettier than his little mageling. More importantly, there were others more _experienced_ than her, too.

Not that Zevran didn't enjoy corrupting an innocent maiden every now and again - Maker knows he had - but often times it was far too much work for far too little reward. He had no reason to be tempted, but he was. Sorely.

In an endeavor to find something -anything- that would cause such a thing, his gaze shifted to something more calculating; he sat up in his chair, bringing his legs down and leaning forward, eyes narrowing at his target.

He could not see her legs through her Circle robes, but he had seen them on the occasion she wore a simple shirt and trousers around camp- they were long; not shapely per se but nor were they gangly looking stilts. Her hips were nothing to gawk at, either, and though she had a wonderfully rounded behind, Neria's virgin status left her with a stiff gait; completely lacking any saunter or roll of the hips that would make the view more enticing.

Amber eyes continued upward; she had a slim waist with a subtle curve to it and a relatively flat stomach with little to no actual musculature to it- not surprising due to the fact she was a mage. Her bosom was small, which was a plus; he was sure they were perfectly rounded and quite pert, even if her stuffy, modest clothing covering anything below her collarbone.

Zevran took another sip of wine as his appraisal went on to the slope of her slender neck and to her jaw. Her ears were slightly longer than his; the tips only just poked out from her hair and he somehow found that endearing. Lips were soft; he had learned that the upper lip protruded a bit farther out than her lower one, and those sweet petals had most certainly caused his mind to wander on occasion.

Then he saw her eyes.

Despite all of his lascivious leers and lewd comments about bosoms and hindquarters and what not, Zevran's favorite feature of any woman was her eyes; they were always the last thing he remembered before whatever nameless female he had been with disappeared from his mind.

All save one, at least.

Rinna's eyes were like justice; steely, cold, calculating and ultimately blind. That woman had to have been blind to love him.

Neria's, on the other hand... he could not place what they reminded him of. He had not had the opportunity despite all his flirting to really _look_. They were blue; the kind of color that reminded him of the sea right after a particularly savage storm, but he didn't know if other hues dotted them.

Zevran was so lost in thought that he only just caught her movements in time to see her languidly stretch; back arched, on the balls of her feet, with her arms high over her head, while making a delicious groaning noise that went straight on from his ears to his libido.

The mage yawned, then gave him a small half-smile. His stomach did an odd dance he wasn't familiar with, but it wasn't wholly unpleasant.

"Good night, Zev." Neria murmured sleepily, not waiting for him to return the favor.

Inwardly, he smirked. He had his opening.

Zevran drained his glass at a leisurely pace; he did not want to appear desperate - because he _wasn't_ - but neither did he want to give her a chance to have already changed into her night clothes. His prey was skittish and that would no doubt ruin his chances.

After what he considered far too long, he paid his tab with a coy wink to his waitress and strode confidently toward his not-so-fearless leader's room. He rapped firmly on the oaken door and in a few moments a slightly disheveled looking Neria Surana appeared.

The mage blinked with surprise. "Uh. Zev? Is there something wrong?" she asked, worry creeping into her voice already.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Only that you did not allow me to bid you a good night." he replied smoothly. "That's really quite rude of you."

Her mouth made an 'o' shape (not he was distracted by that at all) and her eyes went wide. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry! You-you're absolutely right, that was rude." Her delicate hand came to rest on her forehead and she let out a sigh. "I was-- I'm just very tired, Zev; I hope you can forgive me."

His inner self was _whooping_ at his luck.

"Mmm. I _suppose_ I can forgive a delicious creature as yourself." He chuckled softly at her blush. "Tell me, my dear, are you having trouble sleeping properly?"

Neria shuffled from foot to foot and nodded a bit desperately. She motioned for him to come in, stepping to the side to give him space to do so.

The room was large though not necessarily _fancy_ -it was Ferelden after all; she shared with no one on the insistence of the party, who all seemed to love her in varying degrees despite the fact she often sent them out to face death several times a day.

As he made his way to the middle of the room, he caught sight of the bed; it looked soft and relatively clean and there was a small fire crackling in the 'sitting room' area. Quite cozy and it almost made him forget about the lingering wet dog smell that seemed to cling to every pore of this frigid country's land.

His eyes were drawn back to Neria when he heard a dull thump. The mage was leaning against the wall nearest to him; head tilted back slightly and eyes shut, hands flexing in what he assumed was agitation.

He saw, now, that she did indeed look tired. Exhausted, even; violet smudges decorated her lower eyelids and lines that were not there a month ago creased her once youthful face.

"Nightmares." Neria rasped, not looking at him. "Alistair said I'd be able to block them eventually, but I can't."

"I guess it's because I Joined during a Blight, or maybe because I'm a mage..." she paused, sighing, before meeting his gaze. "Either way they don't stop. I maybe get one or two nights of respite but..." Neria dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and slouched. "I can never get back to sleep after. They-" her breathing hitched and her hands flopped loosely back to her sides, "the Archdemon, the darkspawn... tear you all apart. The people I care about. It--" A sob escaped her, but there were no tears.

"I'm sorry, you don't need to hear this."

Zevran was suddenly overcome with a wave of sympathy, of kinship. Rinna's death still haunted him, almost every night; even if blood was not on her hands he could tell she knew the nightmares could easily become reality and felt responsible. He felt an urge to kiss her, to comfort her, to show her that he was here and that she wasn't alone. That _he_ wasn't alone.

He walked toward her until they were only hairsbreadth apart; she stiffened, but did not push him away.

"Z-Zevran" she stammered. "I don't-- I'm--"

"Shhh." he murmured, placing a hand on her cheek before letting it move to cup her jaw. "Let me take the lead. You deserve to relax, my Warden." Zevran couldn't help but flash a wicked grin. "I promise you shall not be disappointed."

Their lips met, and he was surprised how... well, he wasn't really sure _what_ it was. He just knew it wasn't anywhere as hungry as he thought it should be. Perhaps it was because his partner very obviously had little to no experience even in this department; Zevran just barely managed to suppress a sigh.

More than a little aggravated, he broke the kiss, causing Neria to lurch forward a bit in an amateurish attempt to follow his lips.

His eyebrow quirked up. "You have never been _kissed_?" he asked teasingly. "Oh, my, my; this is _too_ good."

She licked her lips, drawing the bottom one into her mouth to suck on nervously before speaking.

"The only boy I was interested in thought of me like a sister!" she explained indignantly. "And the only man I knew of that was interested in _me_ was a templar that would have jumped off the roof of the tower to avoid talking to me..." The corners of her mouth turned down.

Zevran coughed to hide a bark of laughter, but from her look, he didn't do very well.

"Other than that, no, I didn't even..." she shrugged. "I preferred my studies, at the time."

Both eyebrows shot up. "'At the time', hmm?" he prodded, grinning wolfishly. "Does that mean things-- mmph!"

Suddenly her hands were on the back of his neck and lacing through his hair, pushing his lips onto hers. He was stiff only for a moment, quickly adapting, as he always did.

If she wanted _studies_, he was more than willing to play the tutor.

He was patient: he showed her how small, quick kisses could be just as satisfying as long, tongue twirling tangles; how to nip at a lip hard enough to send a pleasant mixture of pain and pleasure throughout your partner's body, but not to draw blood; the best way to explore another's mouth with your tongue, running along the pallet.

Perhaps it was just because she was an undoubtedly quick learner, but Zevran found himself enjoying the lesson. Neria apparently felt the same, as she was letting her hands wander curiously.

Her hands, untouched by swordplay or manual labor and thus almost unbearably soft, ran up and down the fabric of his shirt, tentatively tracing the lean musculature of his body. Zevran growled, and in an uncharacteristically undisciplined move, he ground himself against her.

Neria let out a gasp, breaking the kiss with a wet smack; her neck angled back so that the crown of her head rested on the wall and she _moaned_ his name. He sucked in a breath to try and keep his composure; he refused to let himself become some pawing, inconsiderate _boy_. No matter how tempting it was.

Instead, he accepted her unintentional offering, kissing up the smooth column of her throat, firmly ignoring the Crow in him that was telling him to kill her now for being so _vulnerable_; so damned _trusting_; just to prove to himself that he was worthless.

He would not betray her, even if he was unworthy to touch her.

Neria gasped and whined in surprise, hands grasping his shoulders in an attempt to keep herself upright. Zevran eagerly assisted her by pressing his body tightly against hers, sandwiching her between the hard wall and his similar form.

Nipping gently, he went along the defined ridge of her jaw, soothing any damaged with a quick swipe of the tongue. Strong, eager hands clamped onto the swells of her hips, thumbs running over the nearby dip on either side and fingers kneading her back firmly.

Zevran's lips finally found their intended target; her ear. Elven ears were particularly sensitive; the closer to the tip, the better reaction, and he was positive she had no idea.

His tongue languidly trailed from her earlobe, up the the long edge of her ear. The mage bucked against him and ground against his erection in such a way that most certainly confirmed his previous thought. Her nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt as he trailed ever closer to the peak.

"You are quite the responsive little thing, aren't you, Neria?" he taunted, voice thick with desire. She shuddered intensely and made a sad little whimpering noise that fanned the already burning flame of _want_ surrounding them.

That whimper became a strained groan when he made it to the pointed tip, which then turned into a 'Holy Maker!' as he suckled.

"Zev- Oh, Maker-- Zevran.. that... I had... no idea- ah" she moaned between panting breaths.

He shifted his body up against her, forcing her hardened nipples to rub against his chest as he nibbled on her ear; Neria cried out, wrapping her arms around his neck again.

Zevran kissed down again, to her earlobe, catching it between his teeth; her breath caught.

"I fully intend on filling the gaps in your _education_, my dear." he paused for effect, lips brushing the hollow of her ear. "If you would be so kind to allow me the _pleasure_, of course."

He felt a tongue on _his_ ear suddenly and he shuddered, biting his cheek to keep from moaning.

"P-please don't stop." she whispered huskily. "I want- I want you. I _want you_"

"You have fine tastes, my sweet." Zevran purred while drawing away from her reluctantly, but keeping hold of her forearm to bring her along with him to the edge of the bed.

Neria's blue eyes darted from him, to the bed, and back again, her earlier decisiveness seeming to slowly leak out, leaving her wringing her hands and chewing her bottom lip.

Zevran's middle and ring finger slipped into the sleeve of her robes, sensually ghosting them along sensitive skin of wrist. Her pulse almost immediately quickened, and he suppressed a triumphant grin.

"I-um." she stuttered, blush deepening across her cheeks. "I- there's just... something I... want to- um- do." Biting her lip, she looked pointedly at her still-twisting fingers.

"C-can I?"

The assassin let out a chuckle; it was so _odd_ to be with someone filled with so much trepidation, but he found it endearing and even sexy.

Waggling his eyebrows, he said, "Oh, you may do whatever you like with me, you devious little minx."

The overly cheesy line had its desired affect: Neria looked up at him and let out a delightfully melodic giggle that made his chest twist.

"Shall I close my eyes?" She cocked her head in way of a question. He simply grinned. "Yes, I think I shall! You will give me a lovely surprise, yes? I would not wish to spoil it."

With that, Zevran closed his eyes and spread out his arms in way of invitation. Several seconds ticked by, but he was patient and she was timid. Neria needed to know she had power in this, as well, and he was not about to ruin that.

There was a number of things he was prepared for: a inquisitive hand on his thigh, perhaps a questing one up his shirt. If she were feel especially bold, a grope here or there, maybe returning the ministrations he had giving to her ears.

All of this, he expected. His mageling, however, seemed to always do _something_ that he was silently shocked by -not the first of which was sparing his life.

Amber eyes snapped open when he felt her hands in his hair, pulling off the leather thong that held his braided hair out of his face. She began to unravel the twisted strands when he noticed that she was so close, their noses were almost touching. The tip of her tongue was poking out from the corner of her mouth, and her face was slightly scrunched up in concentration.

Not necessarily attractive, but certainly adorable.

He was close enough to really _see_ her eyes, finally. Taking advantage of her distraction, he took stock of all the colors: her irises were blue, solidly, but there were three distinct shades that bled into each other. Bright as a clear summer day around her pupils, and dark as a stormy sea near the whites of her eyes.

They were easily the most gorgeous eyes he had ever had the pleasure of seeing so closely, but there was still something in them that he could not place. Whatever it was intensified when she locked gazes with him, raking her fingers through his newly freed flaxen locks.

"I've been wanting to do that since we met" Neria murmured, sounding as entranced as he felt. "I think it looks better like that."

Zevran cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his voice steady. "I shall have to remember that." He leaned forward just enough for his breath to brush against her lips. "Might we continue, or would you rather play with my hair?" She laughed and he kissed her softly. "Not that I could blame you if you wished to do so, of course."

Neria kissed him back eagerly before whispering "Show me what to do, Zevran." against his lips.

He had no idea his Warden was capable of purring, but apparently she was, indeed, and his loins twitched with approval. It was so very tempting to show her how to pleasure him; where to touch, how to stroke, when teeth were appropriate. Neria enjoyed pleasing people, and he imagined -on several occasions- that certain part of her personality would translate to the bedroom.

But he couldn't bring himself to do so. She... deserved better? Yes. That was it.

Zevran smiled toothily placed his hands on her hips, squeezing gently. "As tempting as that offer is, Neria, I had something... _different_ planned, if you would indulge me." he said.

She didn't ask questions, or seem concerned at all that he didn't elaborate; her head just bobbed in agreement. She _trusted_ him, and his inner Crow balked. It screamed at him grab the dagger in his boot and slice her neck the next time she offered it to him.

He could practically hear Rinna in the back of his mind, cackling with glee.

Shaking his head in a vain attempt to push back the murderous ghosts of his past, Zevran tugged off his shirt, not hiding a grin at the gasp he heard as he dropped it to the ground.

"Wow... you're.. um... you're... Wow." she muttered, eyes wide and raking over his bare chest. Hey _may_ have flexed for effect.

"I am, aren't I?" Zevran sighed wistfully. "You are quite the lucky woman." He winked and put his hands back onto her hips, running them up and down the curve of her waist.

They traveled upward, finding the laces of her bodice, slowly untying them; he gave her every opportunity to stop, no matter how painful said ending might be. Some unknown part of him demanded he be gentle with her and, unlike with his Crow side, he felt compelled to listen.

He tugged the laces out one by one, until could slide the article of clothing off her shoulders, letting it hang loosely at her belt.

Zevran attacked the buttons holding her robes together perhaps with too much vigor; the little minx chuckled, watching as his fingers flew from button to button at blinding speed.

"I think you can get these off me faster than I can, Zev"

He bent down and kissed the beautifully defined dip in her newly exposed collarbone.

"Perhaps you will consider allowing me to help with this accursed _contraption_ more often then?" he said, half-joking against her skin.

She gasped as he made his way down her sternum. "Oh- Andraste's knickers! If this is what'll happen every time..."

Neria trailed off when he managed to get her robes completely opened. Zevran slide the fabric off her shoulders, trailing kisses across her right arm until it was free, and repeating the same on the other side, leaving the entire top half of the garment hanging at her side, caught by the belt.

The glow of the candlelight hit her flatteringly, causing shadows to play on the curves of her small but -as he suspected- well-rounded bosom.

Zevran planted kisses along the slope her neck; one hand tickled the small of her back, the other splayed across her navel, flicking at the belt that kept her from being one step closer to bliss.

He was about to ask permission, though he wasn't really sure why. There was no doubt she wanted this; the flush in her skin and the quickened breathing spoke volumes.

Regardless of why, he did not have to.

"Zevran, yes. Please." she breathed.

With a few flicks of his wrist, the belt clattered to the floor, followed by the sound of rumpling cloth.

Neria stood there, clad in her stockings and her small clothes and though Zevran knew he had seen more beautiful women in his life time, he couldn't recall any of them ever making him feel like his heart stopped.

He was _gaping_ like a fool and she must have took his slight hesitation as something uncomplimentary as she started to shuffle anxiously and began gnawing on her lower lip.

With a brilliantly suave smile, Zevran took her hand and swiftly positioned her so that she sat on the bed, and he knelt down in front of her, ignoring his rather painful erection.

His amber eyes kept to her face, watching intently as he smoothed his hands against her leg: starting with the ankle, up the calf, pausing a moment at the back of her knee to tickle (earning him a childish squeal-giggle), and finally to the hem of her stocking.

Neria's legs spread instinctively; he caught the scent of her arousal and his mouth watered slightly. Zevran swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, relishing in the smell, letting it take over his senses.

Sealing his plush lips against the inside of her thigh, he rolled the garment down her leg: kissing, licking, and sucking his way down her calf. Her sapphire eyes came down half-mast as she shifted, murmuring little noises of contentment that Zevran decided he needed to hear much more of.

Stopping only to nibble a trail along the arch of her foot as it came free (again getting that delightfully carefree giggle), he moved to repeat the gesture on her other leg.

He gave her a knowing smirk as he rose; her face level with his stomach. She looked up at him, that unknown emotion swirling violently in her eyes. A small, but genuine smile he had never seen before touched her lips, and the assassin felt like his stomach was twisting in knots; several times over.

Swallowing down whatever he was feeling, he let his hand run along the silky expanse of her inner thigh, brushing scandalously close to her sex, but not touching. Her eyes closed, head tilted back, and her lips parted as she moaned in rapture.

Zevran let his hand linger there as he moved to sit on the bed, crawling like a cat over to the pillows and twisting himself about so he sat upright, legs spread enough for a certain mage to sit between.

He motioned her over with both hands. "Come, my dear." he commanded, mouth curving into a wicked grin. "That will not be the last time I say that this evening, either, so you best get used to hearing it."

Hurriedly, she crawled over to him in a less graceful manner, and sat so that her back was against him; his length firmly pressed against her bottom. He stifled a groan and managed not to grind against her- yet, anyway.

He pressed a hand against her forehead, wordlessly asking her to tilt it back to rest on his shoulder. She obliged immediately; her eyes closed when her head hit it's target and she let out a sweet sigh of comfort, snuggling against him as if he _weren't_ the man who tried to murder her scant weeks ago.

His lips found her neck, hungrily laving wet kisses on the curved slope; at the same time, one hand found the laces of her breast bind, and deftly flicked them open, pulling the garment off with such force it made the snapping sound of whiplash.

Both arms wrapped around her, eager to play with the newly revealed flesh. Neria was writhing against him in anticipation as his calloused hands climbed up her stomach and past her ribs, until finally coming to her breasts.

Zevran cupped one in his hand, kneading in a very controlled manner before brushing his palm against a nipple, feeling it harden even more under his touch. The other hand repeated the gesture, and the mage in his lap arched into his touch, moaning for more.

Chuckling huskily, he pinched the perked nipples, causing her to gasp press her rear against his length. Her hands gripped his thighs; nails likely marking him even through the fabric of his trousers.

In a slow, deliberate stroke, his tongue made it's way to her ear, licking up and down the shell again as he palmed her breasts. She angled her head slightly and moaned breathlessly; hair tickling his shoulder as she leaned back.

His mouth came to the hollow of her ear, keen for the next item on Zevran's itinerary.

"Do you know what you have done to me these past months, woman?" he growled hotly, delighting in her shudder. His hands continued to pinch and mold her as he spoke.

"Wh-what are-- ah-- I didn't--" she broke off in a throaty wail when he rolled both buds between his fingers.

"Shh." he whispered soothingly, one hand beginning its journey south, skimming along her belly; her muscles clenching in anticipation. "Listen to me. Close your eyes, my sweet."

Neria did so; again, no questions asked.

Zevran's hand dipped into her small clothes as he continued, tugging meaningfully at her curls but doing nothing to soothe her aching even as she thrust up into his touch.

His middle finger slid down her heat, purposefully avoiding that lovely nub of pleasure - for now - as he continued his speech.

"I have watched you - wanted you - for so long." he rasped against her ear, thumb flicking over the hooded flesh but nothing more. Neria mewled in response: eye clenched shut, hips rolling instinctively with his strokes, hands rubbing back and forth on his thighs.

"Every night I have thought of you, sweetling. You have haunted me." He murmured, plunging his middle finger into her, maneuvering his had so that his palm could grind directly on the apex of her sex.

"Zevran!" Neria screamed out, his name ending in more of a sob.

He nibbled up the shell of her ear and pinched her nipple as a reward, finger in her slick heat quickening it's pace. "Yes. That's it. I am here, now." His palm made a circular motion on that nub she likely never learned about and she screeched his name; again the last syllable was broken by desperate sobs.

"You're close, aren't you, my dear?" She nodded, whimpering as he rolled her nipple yet again. Another trip up the length of her ear; a sharp bite on the tip followed by a soothing tongue.

Zevran slipped his index finger into her and she groaned throatily; hips coming completely off the bed as she used her neck and shoulders against him to keep her upright while grinding mercilessly against him.

"Come. Let me hear you, Neria. Call my name. Tell me who is making you feel so good." he whispered her named only reverently, eyes locked on her enraptured face.

Her hands went to his wrist and her inner muscles clamped down so tightly his fingers started to ache. She moaned weakly, saying is name over and over again along with 'amazing' and 'Holy Maker' and sometimes a string of curses.

Neria limply slouched against his chest, sweating and panting and shuddering with the aftershocks he was drawing out languidly with his fingers, continuing until she started to giggle and attempted to squirm away.

He brought his now slightly sore hand to his lips; she looked up curiously, crown of her head settled on his pectoral.

Zevran grinned down at her lasciviously before licking and sucking his fingers clean. He suppressed a laugh at her bug-eyed expression, and used his tongue to dart out and collect the rest of her juices on his lips. Neria was deliciously tangy with a hint of sweet, and he wanted more.

"Mmm. I do hope you're not too tired, my dear Warden" he said absently. "I am no where near done with you."

Neria made some vague noise that sounded roughly like "mph urgle mm?" and he mentally patted himself on the back. Nothing strokes the ego quite like riding a woman into incoherency.

Pushing her up by her shoulders, Zevran agilely made his way out from behind her, letting her flop back against the pillows heavily when he was free. The mage was still slightly dazed; simply muttering his name under her breath as he slid off her soaking small clothes and tossed them to the floor.

Zevran's erection was _painfully_ throbbing, but he wasn't about to give in just yet; the life of an assassin such as he often meant he went without release- killing his targets after they reached their peak of pleasure was ridiculously easy. Still, he needed some of the pressure relieved if he was to be of any use, so he undid some of the laces on his trousers, groaning appreciatively as they came loose.

"Zev?" Neria said hoarsely.

"Mm?" he replied distractedly, eyes flicking over her naked form.

"I.. that was amazing." she said while giving him a lop-sided smile. "Not that you didn't already know that, I suppose."

An eyebrow arched in response as he stretched himself out over her body, hips pressed together firmly.

"I believe the entire _district_ knows that, my dear." He quipped, enforcing the word with a snap of his hips that got him a strangled moan from his bed partner.

"You... you mentioned something about... not being done with me?" Neria asked not hiding her curiosity, or her yearning.

Zevran let out a throaty chuckled. "Indeed."

Before she could ask what, he slid down her body: his tongue laved attention on her breasts, teeth nipped at her ribs, lips left redden flesh in their wake. Down he went, enjoying the slew of mewls, moans, and whimpers he forced out of her.

Finally at his destination, he lifted her slender legs up so that her thighs could rest on his shoulders, and settled his hands firmly on her hips, pressing them to the bed.

Perking his head up, he looked directly into her eyes and smirked smugly. "I believe," he began, stroking the dip of her hips sensually, "you will be telling the entire city by the time I am through here."

Neria laughed - that simply would not do. Zevran dipped his head and kissed her folds. The laughter stopped, replaced with a hiss and the sound of nails scraping cloth.

His tongue darted out, bathing her petals with methodical precision; he teased with distractingly light touches for a time, enough that she started to growl and grip at his hair while thrusting upwards in a vain attempt to get some sort of friction. Inwardly, he grinned at her enthusiasm, rewarding her by allowing his agile tongue to seek out her entrance.

The grip on his hair tightened, and her moaning only grew to keening wails as he pressed the muscle against her pelvic wall, swirling around as best he could in her tightness. Purposefully, he let his nose nuzzle the tip of her nub; she bucked up and it took all his strength to keep her pinned, though that did not stop him from snickering against her sex.

Neria's head threw back in rapture, his name tumbling from her swollen lips as he reached where he truly wanted to lave attention. His lips wrapped around her bud and suckled gently, tongue flicking over the tip.

Not even his strength could keep her from thrusting and grinding against on his mouth; he let go in hopes she would return the favor to his hair. The painful tug on his scalp intensified when he scrapped his teeth against her. No such luck.

Zevran made one last pass along her folds before slipping two fingers into her wet heat; she was clenching them tightly inside her.

"Zev...ran... I-- Oh _Maker_ so-so close... you--" she rasped between labored breaths.

He pumped his fingers in and out of her at a rapid pace, her hips stuttering along with him. One last flick of his tongue and she came. Hard.

The scream was hoarse and strained; her throat would no doubt be sore for days from this night, not that it wasn't worth it. She arched beautifully, body quaking as his fingered continued their moments at a far slower rhythm, coaxing her back down.

Fingers raked through his hair as she looked down at him; face and chest exquisitely flushed. Her breasts were heaving deep pants and her face had the smile of someone utterly satisfied. Neria's eyelids were fluttering; even if she had not already been exhausted, she certainly was _now_, but Zevran was not about let her sleep.

He prowled up her body until his mouth met hers in a slow tangle, running his tongue along her teeth and pallet, moaning deep in his throat when she pressed her soaking heat against his still unattended erection. Neria sighed against his lips, lacing her fingers in his hair, making little cooing noises of desire as he nipped at her.

They came up for air moments later, greedily sucking in breaths they had both forgotten they needed.

Neria's lips twisted slightly. "I- you're probably... uncomfortable? I mean..." she trailed off, thrusting her hips up a bit to make her point; remarkably blushing as well.

Biting off a groan, he nodded, smiling ruefully. "I assure you, hearing you scream my name made the discomfort very much worth it." He bent down and kissed her once more. "That being said, we should get to the main course, yes?"

Zevran rolled off to the side, onto his back, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "I have been told on several occasions that I am the most delicious cut of meat in all of Thedas."

The mage giggled, cheeks dimpling sweetly as she got on her hands and knees, shuffling over to his hips, turning away from him and bending over obliviously to unbuckle his boots.

Being only a man -albeit an incredibly talented one- Zevran smoothed a hand over a rounded cheek of her rear, squeezing teasingly. Neria squeaked, and looked back at him, eyes narrowed in a failed attempt to look stern.

Then she laughed. "I suppose I should have expect that." she mused.

His only answer was another squeeze. The Warden just rolled her eyes and chuckled, pulling off his boots and socks quickly and pushing them off the edge of the bed. Swatting his hand away, she switched herself around again to pull the final barrier between them away, throwing them aside at last.

She blinked dumbly for a few moments, taking his form; a smug smirk crept its way onto his lips as she licked her own.

"Maker..." Neria trailed off, mouth still slightly open.

"Just Zevran to you, my dear." He quipped, winking. "As much as I would like the attention, priests in general are not exactly a fun crowd."

There was no laughter; instead her brow furrowed, looking intently at his erect manhood, before turning her gaze to his.

"You haven't just been uncomfortable, have you?" she asked, voice soft. "You've been in _pain_. I-I-I'm sorry." Her lower lip quivered; Neria suddenly slid into the crook of his arm, propping herself up on her elbow so that her intensely stormy eyes locked with his amber ones.

"It... I should have... done something. It-it didn't even occur to me that..." she stammered and he was at a loss. She... was worried? Sad that she had caused him discomfort; pain?

"I just-- everything felt so _good_ and- oh I'm such a terrible person." she lamented. "Here you are trying to help and I--"

Zevran cut her off with a drawn-out kiss; he teased her lips, tongues sensually dancing, letting her tension bleed out. As he broke away, he started to move: his hands went to either side of her neck, mindful of her hair, keeping his weight off her as he fit between her thighs like he was made for her.

Lowering himself onto an elbow, his other hand slid between her back and the mattress, gliding down to the small of her back; his head bowed to the crook of her neck and Zevran let out a guttural moan when the tip of his member brushed her hot core.

He pressed his lips against the sensitive skin behind her ear. "I have met many terrible people in my life, Neria." he whispered tenderly as he pressed himself into her, stifling a groan as she tensed. "You are not one of them."

Continuing on, he planted kisses along her neck and he delved deeper into her heat; for the first time in his life he was genuinely thankful for all his years of experience - it was the only thing keeping him from pounding into her. Neria hissed and tightened around him; her arm locked with the one holding him up so that her hand could grip on his shoulder, the other gripping his bicep with equal intensity.

"You need to relax, my dear." he murmured against her skin through pecks. His lover whimpered and nodded, shuddering as she attempted to do so.

Zevran pressed on, savoring the heavenly feeling of the woman he had wanted since they met; until he met her maidenhead, pressure so acute it caused _him_ to grimace. Tension lines around her eyes and mouth deepened and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"Here." he said, the hand on the small of her back gently coaxing her hips up into a slight angle. "Put your legs around me." She complied immediately, locking her ankles; she let out a throaty moan from the change of position, tilting herself up a bit more.

Lifting his head up, he looked into her eyes. "This _will_ hurt, but not for long. Try to move with me, it will ease the ache." Zevran instructed, trying to keep the trepidation out of his voice. It made no sense to be hesitant with this; nothing he did would keep it from hurting, and truth be told it was better for them both just to get it over with, but that newly emerged part of him balked at the idea of hurting her.

Swallowing hard, he rolled his hips smoothly, breaking through and beyond; Neria yelped. As slowly as he could manage, he pulled out, sucking in a breath in the process; eyes intent on her face. In again; this time she was more responsive, bucking her hips up to meet his and moaning airily.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as he started to stroke in earnest; fingers laced into his unbound hair and gently pushed him down back to her neck. Zevran understood when he felt a tongue running along the length of his ear. He moaned her name in thanks.

Their pace sped up, hips grinding against each other; moans and curses and grunts of pleasure filled the room as the tension in his belly became a tingling ache. His free hand snaked from her back to her front, wiggling into their combined curls, flicking circles around her bud.

Neria's response was the buck him near off her body; she screamed out his name, tugging at his hair in rapture. Teeth and tongue and lips worked up and down the shell of his ear and he needed release _now_.

With a twist of his hips and a quick pinch of his fingers, she came yet again; her hips thrust up and her legs pushed down and he was caught happily, sunk deep within her as he flew off the edge with her.

Resting his body weight on both elbows now, -the only thing keeping him from falling on top of her- Zevran's cheek pressed against hers. Her hands were still linked in his thick hair; body still quaking under him.

"Tha' was... 'ncredble" Neria murmured, barely aware she spoke at all.

Zevran chuckled and rolled off to the side yet again, shoulders brushing, and far too tired to move himself farther away just yet. That was a mistake, obviously, because his mage decided to snuggle against him.

What baffled him further, was that his arm decided to wrap around her back, and pull her to his chest. He was never one to stay past the deed; his partners were either dead, on the clock, too clingy, or had spouses on the way, but for some reason... he felt no compulsion to run.

Warm puffs of breath tickled his sweat-soaked chest, her arm laid across his chest limply, and a leg hooked itself with his own. He could feel Neria smile against his skin.

"Don't think 'll haf nigh'mares t'night... th'k you, Zev." Her voice was barely audible but even in his fatigued state, he couldn't help but smile genuinely at her insistence to thank him.

"It was my pleasure, _mi amore_." Zevran replied, without noticing the endearment that left his lips so easily.

Within moments, Neria breathing evened out, a soft snuffling noise occasionally escaping her. The Crow in him told him to flee. Run, now, back to his room to avoid others knowing about their tryst -that was all it was after all.

But when he looked down at the sleeping form of the little mage, he couldn't. More importantly, he just didn't want to.

Letting out a happy sigh, Zevran clutched her tightly to him as his eyes drifted close, ignorant of the small twist of his lips plastered on his face.

* * *

It was an hour or two before dawn when Zevran's internal clock woke him. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and who he was with.

Neria hadn't moved much: her ear rested right above his heart, one arm under him, the other over to wrap him in a gentle embrace, and her legs were so intertwined with his it was hard to tell whose was whose.

Having her lying naked in his arms was _comfortable_. He hardly even registered the naked part, which really should have _bothered_ him, but it didn't. No screams or sobs had awoken him in the night, like they had every night in camp. Did she feel safe in his arms? Did he -_the assassin; the man who attempted to take her life_- chase away that darkness?

Rinna was most definitely mocking him beyond the grave.

Zevran must have made his confusion known some way, because he felt Neria start to stir. Muscles trembled against him as she stretched lightly before cuddling in even closer to him, if such a thing were possible. She didn't even seem disoriented that someone was in the bed with her.

"Mor'ing, Zev." she mumbled against his chest. "Sleep okay?"

"Mhmm" he replied, not trusting his voice due to his earlier musings.

With some difficulty, Neria managed to rest her chin on his chest so that she could look him in the eye by steadying herself on her elbows, careful not to dig her bony appendages into him.

She cleared her throat and smiled sweetly; Zevran felt his heart _ache_ at the sight.

"Thank you." she said simply, voice soft with the last vestiges of sleep. Her blue eyes were bright with that unfathomable emotion.

Zevran quickly put on a forced smirk. "I did get something out of it, if you remember, my dear."

Neria just smiled. "I'm not talking about the sex... although it was amazing. Mind-blowing, even." she added when he started to protest. "I meant.. for staying. Through the night... I-I didn't have nightmares." She pressed a kiss above his heart. "I felt... protected."

And with that, she repositioned herself back into the crook of his arm. A long, contented sigh whooshed out of her, and again, in moments, she was back asleep.

He had no idea how long had passed when it hit him.

Her eyes were like a summer day; warm and bright and blue. They were always like this, and that made them memorable, more so even than Rinna's steel. They were awash with tenderness and concern for all her friends - him included - and even merciful towards her enemies.

But when she looked at him, he noticed, she looked _at him_. Neria saw past the gilding he wore, into his soul. She listened so intently to his stories of assassinations; kept coming back, but was never frightened.

She _cared_.

Zevran knew that when the sun rose he would have to tell her that he made to claims to her. That this was just sex - she was not his and he was not hers. That he would be happy to continue to relieve her stress if she so wished, but she need not worry about ties.

But the sun would not rise for another hour or so.

His arms tightened around his lover, nuzzling his face against her hair and breathing in her scent.

For another hour, she was his, and he was hers and for the first time in his life, Zevran felt _free._

_

* * *

_"So?"

"No, Leliana"

Those three words had been repeated all day. Oh, sometimes the Orlesian bard would exchange 'So' for 'Please' or just a pout, but the general idea was the same.

They were setting up camp after leaving Denerim, headed for some Maker forsaken place to convince whomever they could that the Blight was indeed real and they needed to get off their collective arse and help.

Zevran was sitting at his place by the campfire, absently sliding a whetstone on his daggers, pointedly looking away from the two women sitting side-by-side on the opposite edge.

"Just tell me and I will stop pestering you!" the bard insisted, accentuating her point with a poke to Neria's ribs.

"No, Leliana" Neria growled for what must have been the fiftieth time that day.

Leliana pouted once more and rested her chin on the mage's shoulder, poking her ribs once more.

He had to bite his cheek to stop himself from laughing at the picture in front of him; they did not notice him. Or at least, Neria did not.

"Ple--" Leliana was cut off by Neria bolting up to her feet.

"ALL RIGHT! Maker's _balls_!" she cursed. "It was... this big," she made a gesture with her hands that honestly did Zevran more justice than he deserved - not that he'd mention that to anyone, "and yes, he definitely knows how to use it. I peaked three times, he only once. His hands were magic. His tongue is a _gift from the Maker_ and his voice makes me soak my small clothes." she ranted, counting off each attribute with a finger.

Unable to help himself, the former Crow cleared his throat, alerting his lover to his presence.

"You are certainly an expert at _stroking_ my ego, dear woman." he purred, drawing out the word silkily, heavily laced with innuendo.

His Warden flushed and tried to stammer something out, eventually giving up and stomping off to the nearby pond, fuming.

Leliana arched an appraising eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

Zevran grinned.


	4. Al and FAmell: Hard Day

_King!Alistair and Chancellor Fem!Amell. Prompt was hot 'n sweaty mistress desk sex ft. Eamon and Isolde. I added a little bittersweetness in the end, too._

* * *

_**Maker**__,what an awful day._

First, he woke up next to Anora; that's bad enough to make your entire _year_ terrible.

Then, Alistair had to deal with several hours of nobles and dignitaries congratulating him while "subtly" dropping hints about what they needed and what they were willing to do to get it.

There was some issues with refugees and food and what not and, while stressful, at least it was tolerable.

Then Eamon started in on him about the rumors that he and the Queen hadn't consummated their marriage yet and _don't you know how important it is to have an heir, boy?_

Of course he _knew_! Everyone felt it necessary to remind him! _Constantly_! As if he could _forget_ that he was supposed to sleep with the frostiest bitch this side of the Anderfels.

To make matters worse, he had caught sight of _her_ early in the day. _Her._ His Solona, and she was wearing the robes the 'crown' had bestowed on her because _the Chancellor deserves the very best, don't you think, wife?_

The look on Anora's face was well worth the price of the robes, even if they hadn't looked so positively delicious on her.

She hadn't worn them at all; he had wondered why, of course, but said nothing to her. Today, however, he realized she had... readjusted them.

The bodice was cut low, under the breasts, and cinched tightly to give her... lift, he noticed. The cloth under it was cut scandalously low and the sleeves flared out in the way of Orleisian fashion. The skirt was even worse (better). Solona had added a slit on both sides, from the ground all the way up to her hip, and she wore sandals that showed off her beautiful little feet.

He had just about died right there and she had only been in his sight for a few seconds. Of course, naughty woman that she was, she had to take a moment to wink lasciviously, and lick her red lips.

Having an erection did not help his day get any better.

Finally, he got a bit of a respite and he almost _ran_ to her office. Alistair burst through the door like some rampaging barbarian; Solona wasn't even surprised, in fact she looked thoroughly amused.

"_Hard_ day, Your Majesty?" she purred. Maker, the way she said _hard_... evil, devious woman.

"Extremely, _Chancellor_." he returned. "I thought you were supposed to _assist_ with such matters?"

Her eyes flashed in that predatory way that sent tingles to every cell in his body and Solona twisted her mouth into a decidedly wicked smirk.

She stalked around her desk, letting her hand drag across the smooth surface in an undoubtedly erotic manner. Hopping slightly -making her breasts bounce, to his delight- she sat on the edge, crossing her leg in a way that would have been considered lady-like were it not for the slit in her robe.

Alistair swallowed hard, but had the presence of mind (if only just) to lock the door behind him. Solona laughed silkily as he turned back toward her; her index finger was playing with the corner of her desk as she was watching him. Well, watching really wasn't the right term, she may as well have been physically stripping him.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips; he followed it intently while advancing on her. As he reached her, he noticed Solona's eyes were dark with lust already - his were, too, he suspected.

"You're quite right, my _King_." she said, running her hands up and down his ridiculously gaudy doublet. "It is my duty -nay, my _privilege_ to alleviate the... _pressures_ of the crown." Solona's thigh slid against the bulge in his pants to make her point.

Andraste's blood, he loved this woman.

He cleared his throat and placed his hands on the swells of her hips. "As much as I'd love to continue this little game - and I'd _really_ love to - you're making it increasingly difficult for me to think."

Solona's slender, feminine fingers flew to the buttons of his doublet before he'd even finished talking. Alistair had started to tease her about being eager but she shut him up with a searing kiss that reminded him that it had been far too long since he'd been able to be with her. He moaned throatily when her hands finally reached the bare skin of his chest; she returned the noise when he sucked on her tongue.

Her legs wrapped around him and he hitched up the fabric of her robes to pool at her waist. She had no small clothes on, and he arched an eyebrow up at her.

"I should have known you had this planned." he teased, running his fingers up and down her wet heat. Solona whimpered.

"Ah- I'm the _Chancellor_, Your Majesty." she replied, a bit breathless. He flicked a finger over the hard nub that made her scream out. "Oh-oh _Maker,_ I love it when you do that." Solona groaned and bucked her hips up.

Alistair grinned and brought his lips to her ear. "And what does being Chancellor have to do with running around naked under these?" he murmured, free hand plucking at her robes. "Love what you did with them, by the way. Brilliant, truly. I should make these official for all mages." he paused, attempting to look pensive while continuing to stroke up and down her folds. "Well, the women anyway; I don't think anyone needs to see something like this on Irving."

As intended, she laughed, causing herself to grind on his hand; her head craned back in rapture and she moaned.

Suddenly there was a hand on his erection; a palm pressing against him through the cloth and stroking up and down smoothly. Alistair's eyes clenched close, and he thrust up unconsciously.

"I always need to be prepared to do what's necessary for my monarch." she purred sweetly. "Who knows when he might need me." Her lips found his neck and nibbled gently; both of their hands increased the tempo.

"Against a wall, in his study." she chuckled and nipped his Adam's apple, he sunk two fingers into her heat in retaliation. "Ah- yes! Mmm- in my study is-is good too." His finger found her bud and rolled around it in quick circles, causing her hips to jerk. "Oh-oh! Amazing! It's-it's amazing! P-Perfect!"

He let out a loud, guttural moan as her soft hand slipped into the waistband of his pants, gripping his length tightly.

"You know," he said, voice strained, but light. "We need to do this on the throne some time." She stopped her ministrations on his manhood and his neck and looked at him like he was crazy.

"What? You can't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind!"

Solona let out a husky chuckle. "We'll work on that later. Right now," she pulled his trousers down and wrapped her arms around his neck, "right now, I need you inside me. Take me _now._"

Well, who was he to refuse _that_?

Alistair tenderly pressed his lips to hers and slid into her in one, smooth stroke; moans caught in each others mouths.

It didn't stay tender for long, though. The kiss broke and he held onto her hips like that was the only way to keep her with him; her fingers laced into his hair and tugged roughly as he began to move.

His strokes were strong and decisive; each time he pulled out almost completely, loving the whimper he got from her; each entry was all at once. Solona was thrusting against him as best she could, grinding hard and pressing her covered breasts against his chest; he could feel her rubbing the hard peaks against him.

They were sweating and cursing; she was begging for it harder and he obliged, pumping faster; the sound of flesh on flesh echoed in the stone room, which only seemed to heighten his arousal.

Solona's heated hands came down from his hair; she leaned back with her palms planted behind, letting him get a full view of her as she got closer.

Alistair moved one large hand to the small of her back, keeping her hips pressed tightly to his; the other moved between them and his fingers flicked over that wonderful spot that made her arch so beautifully.

She clenched around him tightly, causing him to groan throatily, but he didn't stop filling her with his length; if anything thing he went faster. Solona's screams hit their fevered pitch; she was bucking and writhing against him, sweat causing her hair and clothes to cling to her body.

He angled his hips slightly and rolled his index finger directly on her nub and she yelled out his name without shame, entire body tensing and shivering with her climax.

Alistair moaned out her name in return, erratically pumping into her as she tightened around him; a few more strokes and a whine from Solona for him to join her and he did. His fingers clamped on her waist, tight enough to bruise; sweat dripped from his brow and chest and his entire body was shuddering with the power of his release.

They were panting and flushed with arousal and exertion; she was beautiful.

Somehow, she had found the strength to lift herself up so that she could press her chest to his. Solona let out a small, sad noise when he removed his length from her and she clung to him.

"I've missed you, Alistair." she whispered softly. So softly he barely caught it. Maybe she didn't want him to.

"I know, Solona... I wish-" he was cut of by a chaste, calm kiss.

When she pulled back, she just smiled. "Me too."

* * *

Eamon was _angry._ Pissed. Livid. Of course, he didn't show it because living in the courts for so long had taught him a thing or two about controlling his temper.

Honestly. He gave the 'King' a small break and he had sped out of the room so quick he would have sworn the Archdemon was at his back.

Regardless it'd been over an hour now and he still couldn't find the boy. He'd looked in the larder and the kitchen and the Mabari pens and even checked a few cages just in case. No Alistair.

That's why he was headed with Isolde to the Chancellor's office; she always knew where he was, or might be. If nothing else, Isolde would be about to annoy his location out of her.

He knocked, and there was a loud string of curses from both a male and female voice and lots of shuffling noises. He vaguely heard a 'Get under the bed, you idiot!' and a 'You're going to regret calling me that. Mean woman.'

Eamon sighed and looked over to Isolde knowingly.

The door opened and a surprisingly calm and regal looking Solona Amell stood at the threshold.

"Arl Eamon, Arlessa Isolde," she said in way of greeting, bowing her head to both of them, "Please, come in. Did you need something?"

If he hadn't heard all the ruckus earlier he never would have suspected anything to be amiss. Unfortunately for her, and the King, he had.

Eamon smiled, though, and walked over near the bed. "I do, actually; you see my wife and I have been searching for the King for almost an hour, now. No one seems to know where he is, not even _his wife._" He made sure to put emphasis on that last word. Solona stiffened.

"I am not the King's keeper, my lord; he is entitled to some time-"

Eamon cut her off by kicking sharply under the bed; he was rewarded with an 'Ow!' and a snicker from Isolde.

"Your Majesty, I believe I told you that you needed to have relations with your _wife._" Eamon chastised.

"Thiz iz unbecoming of yoo both!" Isolde agreed.

Solona rolled her eyes and watched Alistair as he got himself from under the bed, unabashedly staring at his backside. He heard her murmur 'So worth it.' and he fought off the urge to place his palm over his eyes in exasperation.

"Oh, look!" Solona exclaimed with fake surprise. "You've found the King! Marvelous job, my lord."

Eamon put on his best 'I am not amused' face and pointed at the door. Alistair nodded and shuffled out, looking all the world like a dejected child. He spared a glace for Solona at the threshold and, sighing wistfully, he left, Eamon and Isolde not far behind.

"Eeeeeamon," Isolde whined, "why don't we dooo thingz like that anymoooore?"

He winced internally, and quickly played the 'old man' card.


	5. Anders and FPC: Not Him

_Anders and Fem!PC. Prompt was Fem!PC is grieving over the loss of Alistair, and has sex with Anders, with much guilt._

* * *

She thought he was so much like him.

He was eager to quip, and quick to laugh. When he did laugh, his eyes crinkled in just the same way, sometimes his nose did too. The nose was almost identical and she idly wondered if Maric had another bastard running loose.

When the corner of his mouth quirked up, she wanted to melt. He was tall and muscular, blond and kind.

All these things reminded her of Alistair, and that's how she ended up asking him to stay the night.

Anders had stammered a bit, only intensifying her want because that was just an _Alistair_ thing to do, so she slammed her lips onto his and he stopped.

It was wild and desperate and he went along with it, just like Alistair always would.

His kisses were just like Alistair's; tentative enough to give her space but skilled enough to make her mewl. He tore of her clothing eagerly, just as Alistair did, so keen on what came next he didn't care what he ripped.

Anders let her undress him, just like Alistair did, enjoying the fact that she would flirtatiously rub the inside of his thigh, or tickle the back of his knee, or lick his chest as she exposed flesh.

His tongue was hot and wet and it laved her nipples in broad, sweeping circles until she was panting and begging for him to enter her, just like Alistair.

They made it to the bed, and Anders made sure her head was comfortably resting on the pillows before he moved between her thighs, just like Alistair.

But then he entered her and it seemed like all those similarities drifted away.

Instead of holding her hand, he was gripping her hips. He wasn't looking into her eyes, he was bowing his head into the crook of her neck. Anders wasn't repeating her name like a chant, he was barely talking at all.

All at once, it hit her, even as she thrust he hips up to meet his. Even as her nails clawed at his back and she felt her climax coming ever closer

His hair was too long; the stubble the covered his face didn't tickle, it scratched. He was too thin, his voice wasn't low enough - gravelly enough - during sex to be Alistair. Alistair wasn't here with her.

It was Anders. Not the man she loved.

She betrayed the man she loved.

Could she betray a dead man? A man who killed himself in front of her?

The mage continued, oblivious to her thoughts. His strokes became erratic and he began rolling his finger around her nub to make sure she went over the edge with him.

She did, and when she came, she sobbed; wailed like she never had before.

Anders was off her before she could speak, but he didn't leave.

Tears poured down her face; all the pain she had built up over the years, all the stress and the worry and the _hurt_ that she had locked away just came tumbling out of her in waves.

There was pressure on her back; a hand. A gentle voice murmured "Just let me hold you." and she listened. She curled herself into Anders' arms and sobbed into his chest without shame; too far gone in her own world of _why?_ and _what happened?_ and _Maker, what did I do to make you hate me?_

Eventually, she couldn't cry anymore; she just hiccuped and gasped for breath, nosed too stuffed to breath properly. Her entire body felt cold and she was trembling, afraid to speak.

She didn't have to.

"I knew you lost someone before all this, you know." Anders said softly. "I could tell. You're pretty good at just bearing up whatever life throws at you, but..." She felt him shrug.

He continued, obviously not expecting her to speak. "I won't tell anyone. I mean, I'm usually a braggart but, I know you needed this. Someone." He drew in a shaky breath. "I knew you were in pain when you came to me tonight-- I'm sorry if I... took advantage... but it wasn't like that."

"I just thought- I just thought that maybe this could help." he went on, voice raw with emotion. "I don't know what happened, and I don't expect you to tell me. I won't tell you that I'm sure he'd 'want you to move on' or 'be happy'; I didn't know the man."

"But, you should know, that you do have people who care about you quite a lot. As more than just a Commander, or an Arlessa, or the Hero of Ferelden. Try not to forget that" Anders finished with a sigh.

"I'll let you get some sleep." A chuckle rumbled through his body. "I'll even send Ser-Pounce-a-Lot to come cuddle with you, all right? That always makes me feel better"

She smiled, but didn't move. Instead she clutched onto him in a tight hug; a lover's embrace.

"Stay" she whispered hoarsely. "Anders, _please._"

He was quiet a moment, frozen as he was trying to get out of the covers. After a not-too-long pause, he acquiesced, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, letting his other hand run along her forearm soothingly.

Anders planted a kiss on the crown of her head, and he murmured, "As long as you need me, I'll be here."


	6. Zev and FAmell: Wonders of Antiva

_Zevran and Catherine Amell. Prompt was for hilarity in the shop but... it turned into this innuendo laden silly thing_.

* * *

Catherine Amell was looking around the storefront with childlike wonder. Never in her life had she seen such a fantastical arrangement of books, robes, staves, reagents and Maker knows what other amazing artifacts.

She honestly hadn't expected to be impressed; her life was spent around magic and Tranquils. It never occurred to her that she never saw the finished products.

It had been a long day of apprehending thugs; she had sent Alistair and Wynne off to get some rest at the Gnawed Noble, while she and Zevran took care of some 'business'.

By 'business' she meant standing in the shadows while Zev pick pocketed to his heart's content. He was actually smiling; it was so endearing she had to let him keep stealing.

Eventually, she called him back, let him keep most of his spoils and they headed to the Wonders of Thedas to deliver some note or another because being a Grey Warden is code for 'poor sod who couldn't rub two silvers together if she tried'.

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when the former Crow mentioned he had hoped the shop would be a whorehouse.

Catherine was a bit disappointed, too, come to think of it.

After delivering the note like the good little messenger she was, Catherine began to poke around the shop, cooing over the newest Chasind style robes like they were a particularly cute puppy.

Zevran, of course, said nothing but she could feel his eyes burning holes through her clothing when bent over a counter to get a better look.

"Those would look marvelous on you, temptress." the assassin purred, hand gliding over base of her spine. He brought his lips to her ear, acting as if he were casually admiring whatever she was looking at.

"It would make certain... _endeavors_ far easier, no?" he said with perfect suggestive undertones lacing through his speech. "Especially in this position."

He nipped her ear and let his hand slide over her rear smoothly; not a grope - Zev was better than that - but a glancing pass with just enough pressure between her legs.

Swallowing hard she absently moved away from him, ignoring the husky chuckle and low whistle she heard from his direction as she sauntered away.

Catherine shook her head in an attempt to help her focus; she began looking at the shelves again.

She stifled a sigh. Of course she'd come across the sex toys right after Zevran fanned the flame. Clever bastard probably planned it all along. Shrugging gracelessly, she decided to look; Cat hadn't gotten any booty since the Tower and she could use some assistance.

Looking over the various phallus-shaped wooden, jade, and other stone carvings with the appraising eye of an expert, she didn't notice the Antivan prowl over to her, and mimic her stance - chin in hand and cocking her head to one side.

"They make them far larger in Antiva, you know." She started a bit when he spoke but quickly recovered; she was in no way embarrassed to be caught - Zev of all people would understand.

Catherine quirked an eyebrow, understanding the innuendo. "Oh, yeah? You'll have to take me there some day, Zev." she said, grinning.

Zevran simply smirked back, raking his eyes up and down her curvaceous form. "My temptress; I would take you to Antiva every night, if you would allow it." He leaned forward to murmur in her ear. "I assure you; you will have no desire for such... inadequate Fereldan _sticks_ after our... _trip_.

Catherine shuddered and let out a small moan; the man could make innuendo out of anything.

Zevran chuckled and sealed his lips to hers in a rough, wet, tongue-tangling kiss that left her swollen and panting and clawing for more.

"Mmm." the Antivan hummed, pressing his hard length against her hip. "I think I shall steal you away to Antiva tonight, my sweet. Do you object?"

"I'm not sure it will live up to the... _picture_ you've painted for me, Zev" she purred, seductively running a hand up his bare thigh. "Are you sure Antiva can keep my attention?" Her hand cupped his manhood and squeezed.

Oh, my. Antivans _do_ make them bigger.

The thought must have shown on her face because Zevran had a decidedly smug grin plastered on his lips. The assassin jerked his head toward the door and arched an eyebrow in question.

Catherine grinned in return. "Yes... I think Antiva sounds _delicious_."


	7. Dairren and FCous: Meant to Be

_Dairren and Fem!Cousland. Prompt was fluffy sex, with bonus points for Cousland topping, Dairren using his sexy voice, and it meaning more than just sex._

* * *

It made _sense_, really. Elissa knew her mother was gently prodding her towards Dairren for a very specific reason; she was already good friends with him, and he would no doubt treat her well, far beyond just spouting out lovely sonnets or giving her frilly gifts. Dairren was a sweet, kind man, with an extremely keen intellect who felt no need for all that _disgustingly_ annoying male posturing that seemed to plague the noble class, clinging like some wasting disease until all that's left is an utterly pathetic shell of a _boy_. What was _more_ impressive (and endearing) was that he absolutely adored debating, specifically with her, and encouraged her _constantly_ where other men told her to go do 'woman things' in the parlor while the _men_ discussed where Ferelden was going.

Elissa took a deep breath, fingers curling around the edge of the study's oaken desk in a white-knuckle grip. It wasn't that she was disgusted by the idea; truth be told Dairren was her best option, lest she be shipped off to some far older man as some sort of trophy. Her parents didn't _want_ that for her, but there was only so much they could do for their second child, and a female at that. They needed to think of alliances and images and a whole matter of other things that never crossed her mind until they got in her way, like now.

She flattened her palms against the wood, bowing her head in contemplation. Would it really be so bad to be married to him? Elissa cared for Dairren, certainly, and beyond that he was a very handsome man, with a voice like silk and honey. Maybe she could –

The door opened and closed behind her, but she didn't bother looking back; she knew all too well who it was.

"Seems I was right to assume you would come here to think, my lady." That _voice_ gave her chills.

Elissa smiled wanly. "I would expect nothing less, Dairren." Turning to face him was more difficult than she thought it would be; for some reason apprehension clawed at her now that _marriage_ was hanging between them. Still, she was stubborn and wasn't going to act like a frightened child about it, going so far as to prop herself up on the desk in the most nonchalant manner she could manage. "Did you want something?"

Dairren just laughed, a corner of his mouth quirking up in an almost bashful half-smile as he walked toward her. "You're not fooling me, 'Lis. I can tell when you're forcing that bravado of yours; don't you have a little more respect for my intelligence than that?"

Her chest heaved in a sigh, arms crossing under her breasts as he saddled up next to her, leaning sideways with an elbow on the table. "I apologize. This just... has me a bit spooked, I suppose."

That, of course, was an understatement, but he didn't need her to voice that to _understand_; he never did.

"Mmm. I suspect that's not even the half of it." he said, tilting his head to the side. "Can we at least _talk_ about it? I know it's rather sudden, but really given the busybody nature of our prospective mothers, we shouldn't have been to surprised."

"I suppose not." she agreed with a shrug. "Still, it all just seems so... _sudden_." Elissa allowed her eyes to meet his, smiling in the process. "I really don't consider myself _spouse_ material."

One of his hands, lightly calloused by sword work, rested on her cheek. "You'd make an _impeccable_ wife... to someone who could handle you, of course." His tone of voice took on that gentle lilt, a sure sign he was teasing her.

Perhaps it was just the new revelation swirling around the two of them, or maybe it was just the inexplicable urge for her to rise to challenges, either way, she found herself leaning into his touch and raising a brow. "And? Do you know of someone who would be capable of such a feat?"

"I..." A flush spread across his cheeks as he stammered slightly. "I might know of such a man, yes. It seems he has been something of a blind fool." he chuckled nervously and raked a hand through his hair, rocking back so that he took on a stance similar to her own.

Elissa couldn't believe what she was hearing. He was admitting to having feelings for her, and more than that, he was confessing he had such feelings for some time, now; it was all a bit overwhelming, but then the entire day had been.

With a sigh, she took a few steps to move into his line of sight once more, placing a hand on his forearm. They were so close, she could feel the warmth emanating from him, and for some reason that gave her _chills_.

"Dairren... are you..." Elissa cleared her throat apprehensively, but pressed onward. "are you telling me that this is what you want?"

He smiled sweetly, eyes glittering in the dim candlelight. Hesitantly, he cupped her jaw and leaned forward, brushing the barest of kisses against her lips; she felt like she had been _shocked_.

As he pulled back, hands and all, Dairren's gaze shifted from a recognizable teasing to something else, akin to the wide-eyed little servant boys around the castle that would give her flowers and run off, but _deeper, _something she couldn't quite understand.

"That is exactly what I'm saying, Elissa." he replied, voice husky. "You're an incredibly captivating woman, I've known that since we met," Dairren fidgeted ever so slightly, and swallowed hard, "but I never thought to mention it before. If you had been born just a few years before, _you_ would be Queen and I..." His eyes left her face in favor for his feet. "I just have resigned myself to my place in life, my lady; noble enough to have the education I so desperately desire but... far too low for the likes of the Teryn's daughter."

The surrender in his voice nearly broke her heart right there; how could he possibly think such a thing? How could she be so indecisive when this man, her dearest friend, had treated her with genuine respect from the moment they had met? Dairren had never been afraid to tell her she was beautiful, nor to compliment her on her wit or intelligence, but he never backed down when they got into a debate, either, preferring when they sat up for hours discussing the pros and cons of reestablishing relations with Orlais.

Her hands mimicked his earlier movements, tilting his head so they were looking at each other once more. "I want to marry you." The confidence in her voice almost surprised _her_, though judging by Dairren's face, nowhere as much as it did him. If he had been any other man, he likely would have been slack-jawed and blinking rapidly in an attempt to comprehend what was just said, but Dairren simply had a pensive look on his face, eyes quiet a bit wider than normal being the only clue that he actually heard what she said.

It was only a few seconds, she was sure, but it felt like an eternity before he spoke, voice measured but laced with a soft wonder as his hands settled on the small of her back. "I know better than to ask if you're sure, or if you think you must agree to this to make your parents happy; you never say something you don't mean, nor do you compromise yourself, even when your family is involved." A brilliant smile crossed his face, dimpling his cheeks. "All I can say is I'm a fortunate man to have you in my life."

That was it; those words seemed to shatter the dam that kept her feelings at bay. Her lips met his feverishly, fingers tangling in his already mussed hair. His fingers curled around the cloth of her dress, pushing her flush against him as his tongue flicked across her bottom lip, asking permission, something she was more than willing to give. Elissa's mouth parted against his, a slew of soft mewls following as his graceful tongue slid into her mouth, rolling along her pallet until finding her own, swirling around it in a languid dance.

Neither of them were willing to let go as the room exorbitantly rose in temperature; hands started to wander, his roaming her back, switching between loosening the laces and squeezing her rear, and hers swiftly undoing the buttons of his doublet. They didn't need to speak about this; it was clear in their desperate movements and unabashed moans that they both wanted – _needed_ – to be together; the two of them weren't inexperienced, but Elissa felt this sudden fluttering in her stomach... not nerves, but something that sent sparks all the way down to her toes.

"Oh, _Elissa_," Dairren whispered throatily against her lips, before trailing down her jaw, "I've wanted you for such a long time. _Hungered_ for you; desired you from afar, wishing I could be the man to caress your flawless body," Elissa felt his hands brushing the fabric of her dress of her shoulders, pointedly brushing the curves, planting kisses all across her collarbone, "taste your skin, kiss your lips, and every _inch_ of your divine form."

Her breath caught in her throat as he traveled downward, peeling her dress and chemise down until it hung loosely off her hips, leaving him kneeling before her, hands on her waist. His breath was hot and dewy against her abdomen, coming out in heavy pants, just as hers were. A long, low growl left his throat, fingertips digging into her skin and just as she was about to ask if he was all right, his mouth pressed against her once more, brushing whisper-light kisses up her stomach and up her ribs as he rose, one hand sliding up her spine and flicking the ties of her breastcloth off in one movement.

It took mere seconds for him to sit against the desk and duck his head to one breast, immediately laving attention. All coherent thought left her as he began to graze his lips against the swell of one smooth mound, making sure to palm its twin in a similar fashion, free hand wrapping around her waist and using his fingertips to tickle the base of her spine. Elissa's hand entangled itself in his curly locks, pushing him against her body; _Maker_ it felt like her entire body was in flames, the heat licking her in all the right places, leaving her flushed all across her face, neck and chest, panting as if she'd been running for her life.

Just as she seemed to get used to the sensations, his tongue flicked against her erect nipple; once, twice and finally enclosing it in his mouth. She threw her head back, arching into his touch as both his teeth and fingers pinched their prospective targets. Warmth was pooling in her belly, spreading out in all directions, soaking her smallclothes and causing her entire body to tremble. There was only _one thing_ to do at this point and by Andraste, she was going to _do him_.

"Dairren." she gasped, clawing at his hair in an attempt to get him to look up at her. He reluctantly complied, looking up at her, but not moving away from her bosom. "Dairren. Get in the chair." She jerked her head in the direction of one of the study's comfortable, over-stuffed sitting chairs. "_Now._"

Her betrothed chuckled as he drew himself up to full height – a scant few inches above her. "As my lady wishes." It was ridiculous; that _tone_ sent shivers up her spine so powerful she had to steady herself on the desk, letting out a shaky breath.

When she managed to fight off the distracting – albeit pleasing – phenomenon and opened her eyes, Dairren had settled in nicely, shedding his doublet along the way to his seat, draping it along the back of the chair. Elissa had never seen him without his shirt on before: he was muscled, of course, but he was still _soft_, with a small collection of little rolls on his stomach, and skin that was just as smooth as hers; she found it endearing.

With a few shakes of her hips, her dress rumpled to the ground, leaving her clad only in her smalls as she stepped out from her slippers. Dairren shifted forward in the chair, eyes darkened with lust, raking up and down her near-naked form. Her heart pounded against its cage as she walked toward him, body shaking in anticipation. He extended his hands out, resting them on her hips once she was close enough, fingertips kneading the curves, thumbs hooking under the waistband of her underwear, but not removing them yet.

Dairren's honey eyes flickered to her face. "Before we, ah... _make love_... I want you to know one thing: this _will_ be making love, for me. I don't expect reciprocation, Elissa, I just--"

She cut him off with a finger to the lips. "I love you, Dairren." Elissa murmured, smiling softly. "I have for much longer than I realized, I think. You've always treated me with respect – _actual_ respect, not what the nobility spouts at me – and never once cowered away from your own stance because I didn't agree with it." Once more, she cupped his face, bowing her head to place her forehead to his. "I love you."

In moments, her smallclothes were on the floor and she was straddling him. Dairren covered her chest, neck and face with an array of kisses, holding her flush against him. He was murmuring through the kisses, she could only catch bits of them: '… so lucky...' and '...love you...' and '...forever by...', continuing on until he seemed to run out of things to say.

Gently, she pushed him back against the chair, hands on his shoulders, allowing herself to settle snugly on his lap, the proof of his desire pulsing against her own aching need. He happily obliged, letting his eyes roam the hills and valleys of her lightly muscled body, not bothering to hide his adoration.

Eventually, they found their way to her face again and he smiled, all teeth and dimples. "I'm blessed to be the one you love, my darling. I know I haven't the means you do, but I vow on my life that I'll spend every moment from here on out attempting to make you the happiest woman on Thedas."

"Make love to me, my Dairren. _Please._"

Though it was her plea to him, it was Elissa's hands that snuck between them, pulling at the laces until they were loose enough to slide down his thighs. Her lover groaned in appreciation as she wrapped a hand around his throbbing length, squeezing firmly. She ran the tip of his arousal against her entrance, throwing her head back in rapture as she ground her sensitive bud against him; Dairren mimicked her motion, his hands instead gripping tightly to her upper thigh.

"_Elissa!_" he cried, thrusting up against her. "I _need you_. Oh, Maker... _Elissa._ Let me inside you."

The yearning in his voice was too much for her; even if she had wanted to tease him, there would be no way she could go through with it. Steadying him under her, she began her decent, waiting until the head of his shaft was fully inside her before tilting her hips back and sliding the rest of the way down. They moaned simultaneously, arching towards one another, and then going completely still as their bodies adjusted to the waves of pleasure coursing through them.

Soon, Dairren's arms wrapped around her waist, sliding her forward until her breasts were pressed against his chest. A hand wove its way into her hair, bringing her down to rest her cheek on his as he began to move. Elissa gasped against his ear, gently rocking her hips, matching his measured pace, flattening her palms on his shoulders.

Everything was _perfect_ and _slow_; the feeling of him filling her completely, thrusting up into her at the perfect angle was pure ecstasy. As she rose and fell in time with him, his hold on her tightened, hands skimming the length of her back, causing her to buck against him in response. Dairren responded similarly when she began nibbling on his earlobe, his once calm rhythm quickly becoming something more insistent. His grip found the swells of her rear, seizing them in a tight hold, using the purchase to guide her up and down, twisting her hips minutely in the process.

The occasional, subtle change in position drove her _mad_. Elissa felt the beginnings of her orgasm tingle at the edges of her senses, a warmth bubbling in her extremities and hastily making its way to her center. Dairren's breath was hot on her ear, his soft moans and sweet declarations of her beauty and of love only heightened the experience.

Eventually, his strokes became erratic and demanding, one hand snaking around to where they met, rolling his thumb around that sensitive cluster of nerves she was blessed with. He circled it in quick, forceful movements, harmonizing impeccably to the tempo of flesh meeting flesh. Elissa threw her head back and _screamed_ his name, nails clawing at his shoulders, hips jerking in an unspoken plea that was immediately answered by flick of his wrist.

Stars sparkled behind her eyelids as she peaked, arms wrapping around her lover's torso, using him as an anchor lest she float away. Vaguely, she felt Dairren make a few more thrusts before doing the same to her, releasing a sob into her hair as he went over the edge with her. They panted heavily, rocking against each other, riding out the last vestiges of their orgasm.

Neither of them made any attempt to move. He splayed his fingers across her back, soothingly caressing her sweat-soaked skin, using just a ghost of a touch, as if afraid she'd break. The feeling of his soft lips brushing against the curve of her shoulder was just as calming, sweet, incoherent endearments tumbling from him, warming her farm more than any blanket could.

Perhaps most people would feel the need to fill the silence, considering the number of revelations they had just actualized. They had gone from best friends, to betrothed, to lovers over the course of a few hours, and she imagined your average person would have found that at least somewhat disconcerting, but as she gently ran her fingers through Dairren's hair, long after she was capable of moving again, Elissa found that there was nothing to be apprehensive about. She loved him, and he loved her, and beyond that, they genuinely respected one another, as far as she was concerned, that made her the luckiest woman in Ferelden.

They'd need to announce their decision soon, Elissa was sure it would surprise no one that they had agreed to it, but that could wait. For now, they would just hold each other close, and whisper words that should have been spoken long ago.


	8. Nathaniel and FMahariel: Let it Show

_Prompt was Nate/Warden fluff. Mushy confession of feelings, no smut here folks._

* * *

They had returned to the Vigil exhausted, covered in grime, darkspawn blood, and Maker knows what else. The keep herself was surprisingly untouched, no doubt due to the amount of gold poured into her reinforcements by Elorwyn Mahariel, their Warden-Commander. She, himself, Anders and Sigrun had saved Amaranthine, killed both the Architect and the Mother, and were now hailed as heroes (twice over for the Commander). Despite everyone's desire to celebrate the victory, the four of them were too tired, and too damn dirty to put up with any cajoling; they all went their separate ways to their rooms, no doubt to bathe and sleep, as he intended.

As he came to the stairwell, he caught sight of Elorwyn out of the corner of his eye. He had _never_ been so affected by a woman before – by anything, really. Cailan had always gone on about the _glorious qualities_ of elves: how lithe they were, the advantage of your partner have extremely sensitive ears, and that they were _just_ the right size to be easy to maneuver in the bedroom. His brother had raved about them as well; Nathaniel really never saw the appeal. While not being a particularly _rough_ lover, he didn't like being with a waif of a woman, fearing he may snap her in half with a few strong thrusts.

Perhaps it had to do with her being Dalish, but she was nothing like the elves he was used to. For one, she had dark skin, a rarity in Ferelden and even rarer amongst her kind, so she had told him. Her eyes were a cold grey-blue, that seemed to pierce through anyone, and Maker forbid she _glare_ at you; he'd rather take on another sodding broodmother than be on the receiving end of that look. That coupled with high cheekbones, vine-like tattoos along her forehead and nose, pointed chin and russet hair coiled into a tight, braided bun at all times, gave her a frighteningly austere demeanor. She was nearly all muscle; not to the point of unattractiveness, but certainly enough to make most men look the other way. No common beauty, in other words.

Nathaniel shook his head and climbed the stairs to his room, long legs carrying him to the door across the hall from his commander's, entering and shutting the door behind him with a sigh. Methodically, he began removing his leathers: first the gauntlets, then the bracers, pauldrons, boots, leggings and finally his breastplate. Not for the first time, he thanked the Maker for the keep's efficient staff, eying the steaming tub in his washroom not unlike a starving man would gaze at a buffet. In a few strides, he was at its side, stripping off his smalls and undershirt, and sinking into the near-scalding water with a satisfied groan.

His eyelids fluttered closed, head leaning back against the edge of the tub, allowing the warm water to seep into his aching muscles. These times of quiet always bothered him, his mind tended to wander, which wasn't something to fret over in most cases, but that was before Elorwyn. They were similar, he and his commander, something he was actually quite grateful for. She was taciturn and intense, but remarkably intelligent and loyal to those she considered to be 'her people'. Nathaniel was fairly certain he had a better sense of humor than she did (he could practically hear Anders snorting at that) but she, too, had a penchant for dry wit.

Shifting in the tub, he grabbed the washcloth hanging to the side and began the arduous task of removing the layers of filth from his body, slowly dragging across his broad shoulders, and kneading into his aching neck. He tried to think about anything but her: running through the patrol schedule, counting the paces from his room to the assembly chamber, how many tumbles it took to unlock the door to his room – none of it worked.

He let out a hiss of pain as he scrubbed over the large bruise on his chest, just below his right pectoral, the pain only serving to remind him what had happened during that terrible battle against 'the Mother'. He had nearly lost her. That _thing_ had swept her away with a broad stroke of one of its tentacles, throwing her against one of the many rocks surrounding the cavern. Nathaniel vaguely recalled crying out for Anders as Sigrun struck the final blow on that disgusting creature. Elorwyn had been crumpled into a heap, unmoving, helmet cracked in half from the impact; Anders had said that she was lucky, he wouldn't have been able to help if she had suffered a head injury like that.

The mage was able to heal the prominent damage, while he bandaged any remaining wounds. As he was wrapping her forearm, the a realization crystallized in his mind, sharp and unrelenting. He wasn't the type of man to dance around what he felt, even if he didn't show it often; Nathaniel didn't lie, least of all to himself. He had seen people die before, friends even, but he had never felt such pure _terror_ and despair until he witnessed the Commander sailing through the air like a rag doll.

_He loved her._

He was in love and he almost lost the chance to experience it entirely. He felt his brow draw down as he mercilessly attacked the dirt on his feet; how long had these feelings been lingering? How much time had he wasted? A breath he didn't realize he was holding exhaled sharply, face contorting in contemplation as he ran the cloth over his arms. He was a nobleman's first son, thus he never really _considered_ falling in love; his parents' marriage was evidence that love was a bonus, not a necessity. It was something that was in those storybooks he loathed, an emotion for fools to chase after while they ignore their obligations.

Nathaniel's bathing came to a grinding halt. He was a Grey Warden. Elorwyn was his Commander; did they not have their own obligations? It was their duty to keep the darkspawn at bay, and their motto, even in peace; vigilance... but the monstrosities _had_ been fought back. Now was a time for rebirth; of the Order; of Amaranthine; of _Ferelden_. Could he really justify _not_ telling her about his feelings? At the very least, didn't she deserve to know he was compromised? If he had to choose between defeating the darkspawn and Elorwyn's life he'd... well, he'd destroy the darkspawn, now that he thought about it. He'd be dead inside, hating himself until the day he died, but he wouldn't dishonor _either_ of them by putting the theoretical 'them' ahead of the safety of Ferelden, or anywhere else on Thedas.

Rising from the tub, he stamped over to the towel on the counter, hastily drying off his body and giving his hair a weak tousle, not bothering to dry it beyond getting the excess water out. More out of routine than of his own volition, his feet took him to his dresser, quickly snatching up a pair of brown trousers and an off-white linen shirt. His mind raced as slipped his slacks on; _he was in love_, and he wasn't across the hall with the object of his affections. Nathaniel was positive there was _some _feelings on her side of things, maybe not as deep as his own, but certainly something. Elorwyn laughed when she was around him, seemed less tense and easier to talk to, but only if he was the only one around.

A sigh whooshed out of him as he pulled the shirt on, rolling his eyes at his own stalling. He needed to _talk to her_, not run every sodding scenario into the ground without even knowing what she felt. Nathaniel hated walking into anything without a plan, but there was little else to do at this point. They needed to get things out in the open now that the immediate threat was dealt with.

Nodding to himself, exited his room, taking purposeful strides across the corridor until he was staring at the sturdy oak door. All he needed to do was knock, but instead he found himself counting the planks, analyzing the lock and coming to the conclusion that he needed to speak to Varel about security, while his hand lingered in the air, curled into a loose fist. Again, he found himself rolling his eyes in exasperation, and with a deep breath, he knocked three times on her door. Clasping his hands behind his back, he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet in an impatient gesture, despite having only waited a few seconds.

There was the distinct sound of metal sliding against metal, and the 'click' of a door unlocking, the barrier swinging open soon after. She was clad much the same as he, her trousers being green, but an identical shirt that had been fitted a bit more snugly around her body. Her waist-length brown hair was damp, flowing to the middle of her back, and... she looked more exhausted than he felt.

"Nathaniel." she said in way of greeting, though her voice was soft with fatigue. "Can I do something for you?"

He nodded. "I was hoping to talk to you for a time, Commander... it won't take long."

Elorwyn regarded him with one of those penetrating stares that made gooseflesh rise on his arms, her brow furrowing for a moment before drawing herself up to her full height and inclining her head, obviously going into her 'Commander' mode.

Opening the door the rest of the way, she gestured courteously towards her room. "Of course. Come in, please."

Following her request, Nathaniel glided into her chambers, grey eyes taking in the sparse décor. It was all standard furniture that you'd find in any high-ranking noble's home, complete with a pair of sitting chairs by the fire. The only personal touch Elorwyn gave the room was three small bowls, all filled to the brim with pine cones, the fresh aroma wafting in the air.

The elven woman motioned towards the dying fire, heading off in that direction herself and taking up residence amongst the over-stuffed cushions; he mimicked her actions. As he settled in, allowing himself a soft groan of appreciation when his spine met the back of the chair, he kept his eye on her. There were bags under her eyes, and though she kept her posture rigid, sitting on the edge of her seat, her shoulders were slumped forward ever so slightly; no one else would notice that subtle change in body language but him. The dying embers in the fireplace seemed to be far more interesting than speaking, or even favoring him with a glance.

Despite this, he spoke, leaning heavily on the arm of his chair to get closer to her. "Elorwyn." Using her name instead of her title never failed to get her attention, as such, she turned, settling her tired gaze upon his face. "There's something you and I need address."

Her head bobbed, eyes half-lidded, as if the notion exhausted her even more. "I know," was her reply.

Nathaniel fought the urge to grind his teeth. "Do you, now?"

"Sigrun took it upon herself to tell me how you reacted to my... mishap." she replied, gray-blue gaze unwavering. "I understand that feeling well enough to know what it means."

Suddenly the floor seemed far more interesting than being dissected by her steely look. Did she have a lover? That would explain why she showed very little interest in anyone... of course, he hadn't exactly been forthcoming with his desires towards her, either. If she deduced that his response was the manifestation of his feelings for her, did that mean she had experienced that before?

What he was thinking must have shown on his face, because Elorwyn continued. "It's a long story, Nathaniel. I... appreciate the--"

He stood, nodding. "You appreciate the thought, but aren't interested." Honestly, he was rather proud how steady his voice was. "I understand."

With that, he headed for the door, crossing in front of her, only to feel a strong, calloused hand encircle his wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Don't put words in my mouth." she said, bringing her other hand to stroke his, "Will you let me finish?"

It would have been best for the both of them if he just continued on out of her room. They could go on the rest of their years pretending they never acknowledged it, she would go back to being his Commander, he would go back to being her second, the only affection between them being the loyalty as brothers-in-arms. Regardless of it being a poor decision, the rogue found himself bending to one knee, holding one of her hands between both of his, resting his wrists on the seat.

Elorwyn met his gaze, jaw tightening. "His... his name was... Tamlen." Her voice broke on the name, something that both intrigued and frightened him. "I grew up with him; we were causing trouble together the moment we could walk." The corner of her mouth twitched up for a split second. "I think I was in love with him by the time I was thirteen."

Nathaniel swallowed thickly; there was a feeling of dread clawing at his gut, telling him he would not like where this was going, but still, he asked, "What happened to him?"

Her entire body slumped. "He died. I lost him to the darkspawn taint not even two hours after I confessed me love for him. After he had reciprocated." she rasped, voice weak with unshed tears.

"Maker's blood." he muttered under his breath, eyes widening with sympathy, hands gently beginning to stroke her skin as if the motion would somehow take her pain away.

"I had to kill him, Nathaniel."

He blinked, jaw going slack before clicking back closed. "I... _what?_ I thought the darkspawn--"

Elorwyn snapped he hand away, the sudden movement cutting him off. Wrapping her arms around her midsection in a pathetic hug, she turned her head away from him, avoiding his gaze. "He was tainted. Turned into a shriek, and sent after me." Sobs began to wrack her body, causing her to double over, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, Creators; I sank my blade into his heart just as he told me he always loved me. I-I _killed him_!" She was wailing now, her steely voice rising in pitch as hysteria took over.

Nathaniel didn't have much experience with relationships, but he did have a little sister. Drawing on all his knowledge of crying women, he slipped into the chair. It was difficult at first, but once Elorwyn realized what he was aiming to do, she scooted over and let him gather her up to his chest, gently stroking her damp hair. She shuddered against him in silent agony, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, tears staining the garment. Maker, it physically i_hurt_/i to see her in such agony.

Despite the undeniable pain she had to be going through, she calmed herself within a few minutes. The sobs that shook her body were reduced to tiny hiccups that somehow made the knot in his chest tighten even more.

She scrubbed her hands over her face and leaned back, letting them fall to her lap as she looked at him. "It's... taken some time for my heart to heal." A small, nervous chuckle left her, fingers running through her hair in an uncharacteristically bashful move. "As you can see it's... still something I deal with."

There was a lump in his throat; what was he supposed to _say_ to that? It wasn't his doing, so an 'I'm sorry' seemed moronic, even a bit mocking. 'I understand' was equally ridiculous and--

And she was holding his hand. When did that happen? Nathaniel looked down in silent awe as her fingers curled around his, squeezing gently. He marveled at the contrast between their skin tones, how feminine her fingers were despite the rough calluses that covered them.

"You do that often, don't you? Mull over every possibility. I can see it in your face" she said in a warm tone, laced with amusement. "You know it _is_ possible that you think too much."

His mouth twisted into a self-deprecating smirk, rising his head to meet her eyes. "I find it's better to be cautious, especially when it comes to _endeavors_ such as this."

Elorwyn's head bobbed and she made a thoughtful noise, stretching her legs across his lap and over the arm of the chair. She cleared her throat delicately. "I apologize for that. I haven't spoken about Tamlen in a very long time," she murmured, grasping his hand tightly. "It's been two years since I thought I lost him... a little under a year since I saw him die."

Suddenly, she shifted, swinging her legs around, letting go of his hand, using hers to tilt his head up. "I've tried to ignore my feeling for you for... some time, now," she continued, eyes boring into his. "Honestly, I didn't want to distract either of us."

Nathaniel's heart began thumping against its cage. "And... now that our duties are dealt with?" he prodded, inwardly wincing at how hopeful he sounded.

"And now I'd like to begin anew, " she answered, leaning forward so that her lips brushed his cheek. "With you. I've... fallen quite hard for you, Nathaniel."

His brow arched. "Have you? How hard have you fallen, my lady?" he rumbled.

Her hands tenderly cupped his face, and somehow he found himself kissing the thin, slightly chapped lips that he'd only dreamed about. It was a gentle meeting, tentative as only a first kiss could be.

"I love you."

"You... do?" he found himself asking, suppressing the urge to place his palm over his face.

Elorwyn just smiled. "Yes. I do." she confirmed. Soon, her smile faded and she began to shift uncomfortably. "Did I... misread? Do you not--"

_None of that_, he thought as he crashed his lips upon hers once more, emboldened by her words, hands slipping into her thick hair. The woman stiffened only for a moment before melting into the kiss, working her mouth against his, mewling softly. He cupped the back of her head and pressed most insistently, flicking his tongue against her bottom lip. Elorwyn's lips parted almost immediately, and he happily unfurled his tongue against hers, reveling in the throaty moan she gave as a response.

As unfortunate as it was, they both needed air to live, thus he broke away, panting heavily and slightly flushed; she looked more than a little dazed, and he tried not to be _too_ smug about it. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips and closing her eyes as if in rapture; the 'not looking smug' thing he was attempting failed miserably.

A rough chuckle bubbled up from his throat, and he raked a hand through his hair. "That... that was supposed to be an 'I love you, too'."

"Good," she said, rising from her seat, long strides taking her over to her bed. She flipped open the covers and wriggled under them, uttering a contented sigh, before looking over at him expectantly, patting the pillow by her side. "Stay with me tonight?"

Nathaniel was up before she could finish her sentence, taking quick steps over to the other side, repeating her motions, but not deigning to intrude too much farther on her personal space. She, however, had no such qualms, and was nuzzling her nose into his chest mere seconds after he had situated himself. An arm curled around her shoulders, drawing her closer despite never having slept with anyone like this before. Her own arms slid around his waist, a happy sigh puffing against his shirt.

Some little voice in his head told him to kiss her, and he listened, placing it atop her head and rubbing his hand over her toned bicep. Elorwyn made a relaxed 'mm' noise that made a small smile creep onto his lips.

"Get some sleep, Nathaniel. I have plans for you in the morning." she mumbled softly, half asleep already.

He swallowed thickly, trying desperately to ignore the fluttering in his stomach from the implications of her words. "As long as I get the chance to act on some of my own designs."

"I look forward to it, love."

Nathaniel's heart shuddered at that one, simple word.

"As do I, my love." he murmured against the crown of her head, holding her tightly to him as sleep claimed him. It was good to be alive.


	9. Ali and FSurana: Out of Sight

_Prompt for mistress!Surana taking advantage of being beneath Alistair's desk. Smutty smut smut._

* * *

"Oh _Alistair,_" Neria Surana, Hero of Ferelden, Chancellor to the Crown, love of his life, and the most beautiful woman he ever laid eyes on moaned throatily, writhing against him as he pinned her to the wall of his study.

His lips dragged their way up the ultra-sensitive shell of her ear, gripping her hips and forcing her to grind helplessly on his trouser-bound hardening length. Alistair blew on the wet trail, chuckling as she shuddered and gasped, arching and pressing her heaving breasts against his chest. Slowly, his fingers began pulling at the skirts of her robe, bunching the silken fabric up until it pooled at her waist; he wasted no time in rocking his erection against her smalls, growling at the heat that was emanating from her.

"Did you need something, my love?" he teased through a grin, nipping along her jawline.

Neria whimpered. "_Alistair!_ _Please_. I..." She made a purely frustrated noise and bucked against him.

The king 'tsk'ed his lover as he transferred the fistful of cloth he held in his right hand over to the opposite one. Now free, it slid up over the swell of her hip, across her abdomen, and began tantalizing her with whisper-light touches over her folds, through the lace of her smalls. "Have I ever told you that you're very attractive when at my mercy?" Alistair let his tone drop an octave, essentially purring.

"I... ha-ate... you," Neria managed through gritted teeth. "S'not fa-- _oh Maker; yes, there!_"

Alistair slid his fingers pants the waistline of her smallclothes, taking no small amount of pleasure in finding her to be soaking wet. His index and middle fingers began working in tight, jerky circular movements around the little nub of flesh at the apex of her sex. Neria thrust her hips against his hand, mewling wantonly, biting on her lip. A flush was spreading from her cheeks, down her neck, to the swells of her small breasts, partially on display already from his hasty disrobing of her.

"Are you sure about that, Neria?" Alistair asked, slowing his ministrations, drawing a sad little noise from her. "If you're just going to hurt my feelings..." He began to pull his hand away, only to be caught by the wrist by a very angry elf.

"Alistair, I swear, if you stop now I will burn off every hair on your pretty little head."

He pouted, but just as he was about to give a retort, there was a knock on the door, followed by Eamon's voice.

"We need to speak, Majesty."

"Oh, _Maker_. I do _not_ need to hear his speech about how I need to be having sex with my wife instead of you." Alistair groan, bowing his head into the crook of her shoulder.

Neria shifted away from him, letting her skirts fall once more. "I am not dealing with that old prune," she whispered, looking around the room for a hiding place. She nodded toward his desk. "I'll just slip under there." His lover gave his lower lip a nip. "Don't keep me waiting long, understand?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Chancellor." he said with a mock-bow, immediately regretting it, remembering the _issue_ in his pants. As he walked toward the door, the _issue_ became more and more prominent and by the time he had unlocked and opened it, he was already half-way back across the room, making a beeline for his desk.

"Afternoon, Eamon." Alistair said as he sat down, scooting in and avoiding the urge to glance at Neria. "What is this--"

Eamon scoffed. "You know exactly what this is about, Alistair," he said, disapproval evident. "It's been a week since your wedding and the _entire palace_ knows that you haven't... _consummated_." He felt Neria tense under the desk, her small hand coming to rest on his shin.

Alistair closed his eyes and counted to ten, taking several deep breaths; it would do him no good to pound the face of his dear uncle. "I don't think what goes on in my bedroom is anyone's business."

Neria's hand began to run up and down the length of his calf muscle. He assumed it was meant to be a soothing gesture, but given what _activities_ they had been getting into just moments before, Alistair found it more distracting than anything. Reflexively, he jerked his leg in an attempt to get rid of the annoyance.

"You're the _king_, Alistair," Eamon pointed out, beginning to pace. "_Everything_ you do - or _don't_ do - in the this case, is your country's business. Especially where an heir is involved."

The devious hand didn't stop. Instead it slipped to the back of his knee, tickling; Alistair bit the inside of his cheek to hold back the giggle he felt bubbling. "I barely know the woman, Eamon. I can't be expect to just--" _Oh, Maker. Those are her nails. On my thigh_, he thought, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. She wasn't going to do this to him, was she? Not here, not now; she wouldn't... oh who was he kidding, of course she would.

Eamon cleared his throat, clearing waiting for the king too continue his sentence.

Alistair attempted to shift back further in the chair, away from that evil appendage that was hell bent on destroying him, and swallowed thickly. "I can't just jump into bed with her, Eamon... I-I don't _feel_ anything for her."

Neria's palm flattened on his inner thigh, digging her fingertips into his skin. Her other hand mirrored the motion; the bead of sweat at his neck made a path all the way down his spine. Eamon was muttering... something. He was sure it was important, but his priorities were rapidly heading south, along with all his blood. Unconsciously, Alistair leaned forward, regaining the ground he'd lost just minutes before.

Her slender fingers began working at the laces of his trousers, intentionally pressing against his hardened length. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt more than heard a rumbling growl.

"Alistair?"

_Oh, no._

Alistair's throat contracted once more. "I... yes?"

"You're all red faced, and you obviously didn't hear a thing I just said," Eamon said, wrinkles deepening in concern. "Are you all right?"

It was then, of course, Neria had managed to get his erection out, skimming her fingers against it teasingly. He only just bit back a groan.

"Y-yes. I'm... fine, Eamon. What were you saying?" Honestly, he had no idea how he kept his voice from straining.

Eamon sighed. "I was saying that I'm fully aware you have no feelings for the woman. Political marriages rarely give way for such things." he said, voice surprisingly sympathetic. It would have touched him if Neria hadn't encircled his flesh with a hand, digging her thumb into the thick ridge lining the underside of his shaft, languidly stroking him up and down.

"I," His voice broke spectacularly as her hand twisted at the base. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I just... don't fi-find her... all that interesting." he rasped, sweat pooling on his brow.

His 'uncle' chuckled, shaking his head. "I suppose you would," he retorted. "Have you even tried to make this work?"

Alistair had an explanation waiting to come out, but the words lodged in his throat when he felt a wet, warm tongue swirling around the tip of his arousal; his hips jerked instinctively, banging on the desk. Neria didn't stop there, of course. Soon after, that nimble muscle made its way down his shaft, tracing the ridges and veins of his member, causing his entire body to tense. He worked his jaw, head aching from the sheer exertion of keeping his impulses under control. Maker, but he wanted to scream and moan and grab onto her hair, watching her take his length into her mouth.

Unfortunately, he was stuck with attempting to persuade Eamon to leave.

"I... _am,_" he choked out as his mistress' soft hands massaged his thighs, lips dragging up and down the sides of the shaft. "Eamon, I'm trying. You have _no idea_ how difficult this is." Maker, he had no idea.

His nails dug into the wood of his desk as her plush lips wrapped around the tip of him, sucking firmly, flicking her tongue against the tip and swallowing the liquid oozing out. Alistair was sure he was on _fire_. The sweet torture his love was inflicting upon him was tearing his insides apart: there was a tight coil in his belly, his abdominal muscles were burning, sweat seeping out of every pore.

The older man continued speaking, but Alistair didn't hear a word of it. All of his attention was focused on the feeling of Neria's tongue working ever forward, mouth slowly engulfing his entire length, her soft hair tickling his thighs. Her cheeks caved in as she pulled back and it was all he could do to keep himself from bucking up.

"...you really don't look well, Alistair," Eamon's voice managed to break through, finally. "I will go find you a healer."

His fist met his desk with enough force to create a large dent, the noise covering a loud gasp as his lover's hand began pumping his shaft with impressive speed.

"I... just need... some rest, Eamon," Alistair said, throat dry. "We'll talk... later."

Eamon looked him over for a moment, before nodding and walking out, shutting the door behind him. Alistair let out a low groan of relief, slouching back in his chair, as Neria shuffled closer. Acting on an earlier desire, his large hand laced itself in her thick hair, gently guiding her up and down. Her eyes stay locked on his face as she continued, tongue periodically flicking over the tip to gather more of his salty fluid.

"_Oh, Maker_." His heels dug into the stone floor as that agile muscle ran around the rim of the head, her hand twisting and stroking as her thumb worked in small, massaging movements. "Neria. Neria _stop._" he gasped, desperately attempting to push his mistress back.

Thankfully, the devious little elf let him go with a resounding pop. Before he could voice what he wanted, she simply turned around, leaning herself over his desk, giving him an unparallelled view of her rounded backside, obscured though it was by her robes.

She wiggled back and forth, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Take me, lover," she purred.

He was upon her in less than a second, hitching up her robes to pool at her waist. "You're going to be the death of me, you _magnificent_ woman." he half-growled, pulling her smalls down around her thighs.

Alistair ran his callused fingertips along her folds, grinning at how wet she was. "You're damn lucky I'm too far gone; don't think I'm above playing the tease."

The mage laughed, rocking back and brushing her soft skin against his throbbing erection, eliciting a hiss from him. "Less talking, _Your Majesty_."

Well, who was he to argue with his Chancellor? Following her sound advice, Alistair leaned forward on one hand, steadying his length with the other, running the tip along her folds before pressing forward. In one strong thrust, he was buried to the hilt, throwing his head back, cords of his neck tightening.

Neria let out a throaty moan, pushing back against him, hands clawing at his desk. He leaned over her, melting against her back, lips attacking the sensitive skin behind her ear. Alistair brought his hand up to cover her own as he began to rock his hips, not bothering to pull out much more than a few inches. Growling, he caught Neria's earlobe between his teeth, free hand gripping her hip.

It didn't take long for either of them; Alistair found his release within a few more strokes, his love following soon after with the assistance of his fingers. He laid there, draped over her, panting desperately as his body attempted to regulate itself, hand grasping hers tightly.

"You..._really_ ought to warn me before you do things like that," he muttered against her neck.

Neria made a little noise that could have passed for a chuckle. "No fun in that."

"I just about murdered Eamon, you know. That wouldn't have looked too good."

"No, but it would get him to shut up about your_ wife._" she growled.

He smoothed a hand over her hair, pulling his head up enough to look her in the eye. "I'm yours, Neria. That won't ever change."

She smiled, murmuring, "I know."


	10. Camistair: Chopping the Morning Wood

_Prompt for sleepy, romantic sexings led to me indulging in Camistair. Light on sex, heavy on cute. Bring out your d'aww._

* * *

Camilia awoke to the now familiar tickling sensation of her lover's stubble grazing her collarbone as his lips danced along the column of her throat. With a yawn, she arched her back in a stretch, letting out a kitten-like mewl from both the satisfying feeling of working her muscles, and Alistair's tongue darting out to gather her earlobe in his mouth, sucking gently.

"Mornin'," she murmured sleepily, one green eye cracking open to see the first slivers of sunlight illuminating their room in Redcliffe, before focusing on the strawberry-blond hair bobbing in front of her. "S'early. Stoppit." Her delicate hand came up to swat him on the cheek, but in her half-conscious state, Camilia ended up smacking herself in the nose.

Alistair chuckled, drawing his lips up her jawline to the tip of her nose, hands planted on either side of her shoulders. "It is early," he said, grinning, "but we can go back to sleep. Later. After I've had my way with you, wicked temptress." Maker, he was even waggling his _eyebrows_.

The elf yawned again. It wasn't that she wasn't interested; she had given herself to him, and he to her, and more importantly, she loved him. But they had _a bed_. A real, downy, sinfully cushioned bed that demanded she sleep for _at least_ two more days, rest of the world be damned. Not only that, it took her a good hour or two to wake up fully; she'd be useless to him now.

"'M _sleepy_, Al," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her level, nuzzling his cheek. "Can't you wait 'til I'm-" Camilia was cut off by something hard poking her thigh. "What- oh." Well, that explained a few things. "_Oh._"

He laughed, eyes crinkling in amusement. "Yes, '_oh_'. You were rubbing on me all night in just your smalls and my shirt." In one surprisingly graceful movement, he had her lithe body on his lap, large hands gripping onto the swells of her hindquarters, squeezing the pale flesh. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but you can hardly blame me for being i_up/i_ at this hour."

She blinked a few times as she adapted to the sudden change in position, but soon melted against his bare chest, freckled cheek resting on his collarbone. "You're _warm_," she protested weakly, moving her arms to encircle his chest. "An' comfy. Like having a blanket." Cami chuckled at the indignant look he gave her. "A really _manly_ blanket."

Alistair nodded, smile tugging at his lips. "That's right." To prove this, he took a moment to flex his admittedly impressive muscles. His smile doubled when her eyes near popped out of their sockets. "So, I should go shirtless more often, then?"

Arching against him in another stretch, Camilia gave him a sleepy smile, groaning softly. She'd never _say it_, but she certainly enjoyed when his eyes darkened as she unintentionally thrust her (admittedly small) bosom into his face. "Defin'tly," she mumbled, pressing her lips to his nose as her muscles relaxed once more. "All the time, 'kay? Darkspawn will be _blinded_ by your sheer _sexiness_." Normally, that would have made her blush, at least a little, but she was still waking up, and frankly, had _no idea_ what she was going on about.

Her lover's eyebrows shot upward, cheeks dimpling in a smile. "Remind me to do this more often, would you?" he said, leaning forward, using his hand to brush his shirt off her shoulder, kissing the newly revealed flesh. "This is doing fantastic things for my ego."

Murmuring in approval, the elf wiggled on his lap, giggling shamelessly as he let out a hiss against her pale skin. The rather child-like laughter was cut off abruptly when she felt Alistair dig his fingertips into her hips, pressing her down onto that hard bulge and _grinding_. "Oh!" she repeated, though this time the single syllable was drawn out in a moan.

He chuckled huskily, dragging his lips along her collarbone, nipping as his hands skimmed over the expanse of her back, hitching up her shirt in the process. "So, my love," Alistair said, bringing his eyes up to meet hers, "do you mind? I'm not... I didn't mean to, ah... be so _forward_ but, _Maker's breath_ you're just so-"

Camilia cut him off with a kiss that had so much force his skull bounced off the headboard, eliciting a pained grunt that melted into a moan as her callused fingers rose to massage the injured area. One of his own, much larger hands delved into the orange strands of her bed-mussed hair, pushing her to deepen the kiss, gliding his tongue along her lower lip, politely asking entry. Her lips parted against his, a tiny mewl escaping her as their tongues met, playfully following one another into the other's mouth until the kiss was broken in favor of breathing.

"S'fine," she said, breathing heavily. "I like it."

Before he could answer, her hand ran down his chest, over the ridges of his stomach, to the laces of his trousers. It would have been simpler to move off his lap and actually _look_ at what she was doing, but that sort of rational thought was for people who were actually somewhat coherent when they awoke. Camilia's face scrunched in concentration as she fumbled with the fabric, tip of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she unintentionally ran her palm along his length. _Pants should not be this difficult to get off_, she thought to herself, more than a little frustrated, and dangerously close to throwing a tantrum.

"I should hope," Alistair said, startling her out of her thoughts to look at his face, cocking her head in confusion, "that it isn't i_that_/i difficult to find." His lips curved into a half-smile despite his words.

He was joking with her, of course, but her head wasn't working right, thus she took him quite seriously. "Nope! It's _huge_."

A playful brow rose, wrinkling his forehead. "Is it?"

She nodded. "'Normous. And some other words that mean big," she replied, rubbing her nose against his. "My fingers just don't work too well this early. Just gimme a minute, 'kay?"

Alistair laughed, though it was more than a little strained as she managed to loosen the laces. "You have absolutely no right to be so adorable while fishing around in my drawers," he remarked, eyes crinkling in another smile. "I couldn't even pull that off."

She let out a tiny whoop when she finally succeeded in getting his member free of its prison. Absently, she began stroking it, while tilting her head to the side, brow furrowing as she regarded him. "Oh, I don't know," she remarked casually. "I think you could. You're very cute and-"

"Cami," he gasped, grabbing onto her wrists.

Blinking a few times, her head cocked in the other direction. "Huh?"

"I just... _please_. Stop. With your hand. I want... to be _with you_."

His words put a bright smile on her face, one that refused to waver even as she kissed him. Obliging his request, she lifted herself up, using a hand to pull aside her smalls as Alistair steadied his length, running the tip along her folds before poising it at her entrance. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she guided herself down, murmuring incoherently against his cheek as he filled her.

When her hips were flush against his, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Mmm... okay," she mumbled, pressing a clumsy kiss against his cheek. "Have fun."

Alistair chuckled roughly. "'Have fun,' she says. Maker's breath, you're odd in the morning." Despite his laughter, he cradled her in his arms, shifting until he was on top, her legs wrapped around his waist. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against the apple of her cheek, and began moving, as slowly as his body would allow.

Her fingertips dug into the tanned flesh of his biceps, soft moans of contentment leaving her parted lips. Rocking her hips in time with his, more out of instinct than anything else, she let her hands roam, skimming over his back, chest, arms and shoulders, just enjoying how solid he felt. She dotted kisses along his throat, whispering words of encouragement as he moved within her.

It didn't take him long to reach his peak. A few minutes at most, after favoring her with a multitude of kisses across her jaw, eyelids and brow, murmuring declarations of love and care until finally groaning her name into the crook of her neck. As his orgasm shook his body, Camilia's palms smoothed over his neck and hair, lips brushing his temple, his breath coming out in hot pants against her skin.

When he was able to regulate his breathing, Alistair rose his head, looking at her with a sheepish smile on his face. He slid out of her, forcing a whimper to crawl its way from her throat, and settled by her side. His lips found her collar again, this time trailing up the column of her throat and nipping at her pointed chin. While she was distracted by the sensation, his hand began to trail down her stomach.

She caught him by the wrist. "No. Sleepy," she murmured, eyes tingling and lids heavy, nearly back in the Fade already.

"But you didn't finish," he protested, hand continuing on until she brought her other to grasp his palm, pulling back with the strength of both arms.

"Sleep-ee."

"Cam, I can't just-"

Bringing a hand over his mouth, Camilia attempted to glare, but instead yawned; Alistair unconsciously copied the motion beneath her palm. "I am going to let go in a moment," she explained. "When I do, you're going to stop arguing with me, and cuddle. I want _sleeps_."

With that, she let go. Alistair just stared at her for a long time, fingers curling and uncurling in the fabric of her shirt. Finally, he chuckled, kissing her on the tip of her nose. "You're a lot bossier when you're cranky," he pointed out, turning her until her back was pressed to his chest. He left her for but a moment to grab the covers that had been kicked down to the foot of the bed, drawing them up over them both, returning to his place with a peaceful sigh.

As his arm curled around her waist, she wriggled as close as she could, eyes closing from the sensation. "Mmm. Love you," she murmured, shifting a leg so that it slipped between his, locking with one.

Alistair shivered in response, clutching her closer to him, kissing the back of her neck with a gentle nibble. "Love you, too, Cam," he replied, "even if you have freezing feet."

Too tired to argue - and knowing full well that she did have cold feet anyway - she managed to elbow him in the ribs, mumbling something about smart mouthed templars, small smile curving her lips as she drifted off.


End file.
